


Damaged

by Captaindick



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death Fix, Future!Stiles, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Not Really Character Death, POV Alternating, Parallel Universes, Pining, Slow Build, Time Travel, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-12 17:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 37,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captaindick/pseuds/Captaindick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>EDIT 1: this fic is a repost of a deleted wip<br/>EDIT 2: the character death is a fix it (because I can't stand characters dying)</p><p>This summer was supposed to be normal. After everything that happened it had to be uneventful and boring and there shouldn't have been a man looking like an older Stiles falling through the ceiling of the Hale house, trying to kill them.</p><p>or a fic where future!Stiles is brought back to the past and it changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time and Confusion

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is an alternative take on season 3 and I started writing a draft after season 2 ended, adding more as I went and then this turned into a monster and now I'm adding facts from 3a and 3b to the story.
> 
> I already posted it once as a wip and it's still one but now I feel like it's more structured and I decided for myself how much of season 3 I am going to be adding to the story and what I'll ignore in favor of Future!Stiles messing the past up.
> 
>  
> 
> If you're really worried about the character death and don't think you can read without knowing in advance - send me a private message here or on my tumblr and I'll answer you.

**Stiles**

It’s a hot summer day, the air heavy and still, making the heat even more intense. The shade of the Hale house doesn’t help that much when there are patches of light shining through holes in the walls and ceiling. Stiles wipes the sweat from his forehead with his arm and looks at Scott and Derek, occupying the couch that survived the fire while Stiles is perched on a table. Isaac is leaning against a wall and all of them are shirtless, save for Stiles himself. And sweaty. And did Stiles mention shirtless? Stiles would join the shirtless we-look-like-this-is-a-beginning-of-a-weird-porno club, but he definitely doesn’t want to add up to the porn vibe, and then there’s the issue of his pecks, nice and solid pecks, thank you, not seeming so nice in comparison and he’s allowed to be self-conscious. So Stiles sweats in his threadbare cotton shirt, wishing he could’ve just stayed at home. Why did he think it would be a good idea to have this talk with Derek and his pack before Scott got too busy with summer school again?

This was a stupid idea and the heat wasn’t even the main factor to prove it. Derek gruffly shared that yes, he _will_ be training Jackson now that he’s miraculously alive, and that was it. There was this moment where Isaac started talking and Derek glared him into submission, even without the alpha eyes. So this was as productive as… something entirely unproductive. Stiles’ brain wasn’t accustomed to function in such heat, alright? He was supposed to be wolfing down ice cream and standing under cold showers when he wasn’t laying on the floor of his room, clicking mindlessly on the links leading him further and further from his original search.

Derek was promising, more like grudgingly agreeing really, to keep Peter away if he planned on any funny business and Stiles was already picturing himself at home, poking his head into the fridge, that was if his baby wouldn’t give out on him on the road, because the heat wasn’t bad for people exclusively, Stiles’ jeep was in bigger danger right now if you asked him; when there was some kind of fluttering noise from above, as if there was a flock of birds stirring and flying off, or if there was one gigantic pigeon waking up. None of this sounded good because Stiles was pretty sure every animal, or bird for that matter, was smart enough to not come close to the Hale house, their instinct telling them it was deadly.

The fluttering became louder and all the werewolves looked up, sniffing the air, their eyes burning with inhuman light, claws extending. Stiles would laugh at how ridiculous they looked but stepped closer to the exit nonetheless. If it was enough to make them worry, Stiles didn’t want to be too close to the giant pigeon.

The next couple of seconds happened in a blur and flurry of limbs and fabric. Stiles’ eyes widened as he watched the half-rotten wooden ceiling collapse on itself as a figure, cloaked in red, fell through it, regrouping as it was falling so when the stranger landed he only hit a leg on the table, snarling. The man in the cape jumped away, a slight limp to his pace. If it were Stiles, he’d already broken his spine, falling like that.

“Come and fucking get it!” The man outstretched his hand and the tattoos on his arm started glowing, turning red, as if warming up, glowing from the inside. Stiles was standing there, like an idiot, in the doorway, eyes wide, filing away information about the stranger at lightning speed. And then Scott was in front of him, shoving him behind himself, growling at the man, Isaac by Derek’s side as Derek wolfed out and pinned the man by his throat to the wall, roaring so loud, it made more wood chips and planks fall from the already broken ceiling.

The man tries clawing at his arm and face but, thank god, the glowing tattoos, covering both his arms, Stiles notes, don’t do shit to Derek and his wolfy powers and soon the man’s screaming, his arm broken at the wrist as Derek roars again, the man going limp against the wall, the hood still hiding his face and Derek tears it away with a snarl.

The man’s face is screwed up, eyes squeezed shut as he gasps for breath. If Stiles was frozen in place from shock before, it doesn’t even compare with what he’s feeling now. He sees Scott’s shoulders tense more, relax, get tense again. But nobody has time to think because in the next moment Derek falters and almost lets go, letting the man get free, dive and throw himself into Derek’s legs, tackling him down and trying to run. Derek’s back on his feet before the man makes it to the window and he’s pushing him down, pressing him into the dusty floorboards, shoving his head down with a clawed hand on the back of his skull and, Stiles isn’t sure if it’s deliberate or not, hurting his injured hand and the man yells in pain.

There’s a litany of curses from the man’s lips, mixed with a stream of “Owowowow, bitch! Ow!” And Stiles isn’t even controlling himself as he steps closer, Scott trying to shield him and all the werewolves in the room growling deep inside their throats. The red-hooded man’s eyes lift to Stiles’ and his eyebrows shoot up, mouth open in an ‘O.’ Then Derek’s shoving his face into the floor more firmly and leaning down to growl into his ear. He’s not asking questions, probably waiting for the man to talk, not wanting to show he doesn’t know what’s going on or who wanted to kill them, again. Or why he looks exactly like Stiles.

The man in the red cape, with the tattoos that still have a light glow to them, and an impressive vocabulary of curse-words, looks older, more raggedy, his hair is grown out, not shaven and he’s got lines on his face Stiles is too young to have. But everything else? It’s him. A fucking dopelganger. Except for, maybe the combat skills, but, damn, Stiles regrets not reading about shapeahifters and skinwalkers more when he had the chance.

“Derek?” The dopelganger rasps and that’s Stiles’ here’s-a-panic-attack-coming voice. He feels minutely sorry for the other self but backtracks and scolds himself internally. The creature is obviously trying to make them soften up and then will strike.

It’s hard not to talk, not to ask, not to probe and try to find out everything but Stiles keeps his mouth shut, not wanting the creature to replicate his speech pattern. Even if some of it already sounded way too familiar. Well, great, now real Stiles feels like he’s on a verge of a panic attack too. When the hell did this thing have time to creep up on him and duplicate his speech, his breathing pattern, his face…

Derek roars some more and the man underneath him goes completely limp. Stiles watches him forcing himself to breathe through the panic, just like Stiles does, and then he’s talking:

“This is the summer I grow my hair out. It’s just stated, obviously. We came to Derek to get an update on everything before Scott had to go to summer school. Derek didn’t tell us everything. I know what you’re hiding and why. You’re an idiot,” Derek digs his claws into the man’s scalp but the clone just huffs against the floor, making dust fly in the air. “But I have no right to interfere with how things went, so I’m not saying anything about _any_ packs.”

Scott turns to Stiles, his face confused and clueless, but Stiles doesn’t have any answers so he shrugs and shakes his head, expression bewildered. Isaac looks as confused as Scott and Derek is permanently stuck in his werewolf state but Stiles suspects he’s as confused as all of them , even if he keeps snarling at the other Stiles, his shirtless body pressing him into the floor. And this is so not where Stiles’ thoughts were supposed to go… the boy snaps to attention when the man tries to struggle free again but Derek is holding him down and the man moans weakly at the pain in his wrist.

“Peter wanted to help train Jackson but you declined. You’re looking up an apartment because you can’t live here with Isaac. Stiles, you are growing your hair out to look more like Jackson so that Lydia would notice you more.”

Stiles can’t help the coughing fit this declaration makes him have. He didn’t even tell Scott this. This was supposed to be a secret he was going to take to the grave, or trade for an equally embarrassing one from Scott some years into the future.

“No, I am _not_!”

Derek turns to glare at him and what? It’s not his fault his dopelganger is a lying liar that lies and that can obviously read thoughts! The moment Stiles thinks of mind-reading he can’t help but think of porn and then he tries really hard not to, but it’s like a reflex and it’s horrible but he can’t get rid of it and if there were actual real life mind-readers in the room every time Stiles got paranoid about it, he’d have to die of embarrassment.

“There is nothing I can tell you about the future and there are ways I could’ve found out about the past and you wouldn’t believe me. But my wrist hurts and as nice as being shoved into hard surfaces might seem it’s not that pleasant when you’re fully clothed.” Stiles colours and Derek growls at the man. “You can take me to Deaton. The tattoos aren’t against werewolves. There’s some stuff on my belt and in my pockets that is though so you can take it to feel safer.”

Derek makes a weird half-nod at Isaac and the boy is by his side, holding the man down as Derek goes straight for it, ripping the blood-red cape and the belt with his claws, feeling the man up for any more hidden items.

“Mm. I love it when you play rough.” Mutters the man and Stiles tries not to blush. Fails.

“So you’re saying you’re from the future?” He asks awkwardly as Derek gestures at Isaac and the teen makes the dopelganger lift to his knees as Derek keeps feeling him up. Nothing weird at all.

“Yeah. Not talking about it. Rule number one’s already compromised.”

Stiles squints at his older self but is still too wary to talk. He’d rather switch off his thinking process too, just in case, but that he’s incapable of, so at least he keeps an internal monologue.

Derek’s lifting the clone up and tells Scott to bring some rope. There are inappropriate comments about bondage that make Stiles blush again but the intruder doesn’t struggle, or try to run or fight back. It’s almost suspicious how compliant he is. Scott and Isaac get dressed but Derek doesn’t even have time for a shirt, apparently, not taking his eyes or clawed hands from the man that claims to be Stiles. Derek wants Stiles to go home, taking everyone else to Deaton’s in his camaro, but Stiles squeezes in the backseat, sitting beside his dopelganger and refusing to move so Derek, after the dramatic sighs and turning his eyes heavenward, does start the car and Stiles encounters the most awkward silent ride in his entire life. He just knows that if he was in the front seat instead of Isaac, he’d already tried to switch on the radio at least twice. And maybe get shoved out of the car. So Stiles endures the silence, sneaking wary glances at the older Stiles and flexing his jaw from boredom slash nervousness.

Deaton is outside when they drive up to the back door. His face is worried, as worried as neutral gets, but when he sees the other Stiles he visibly relaxes and there’s the calm cryptic Deaton everybody’s used to.

“Hello, Mr Stilinski. Your visit is a… surprise. Well, come on in. Let’s not talk outside.”

Derek stalls though, holding “Mr Stilinski” by his side. Stiles knows Derek doesn’t trust Deaton but the dude did nothing but help them and if he’s not alarmed then everything’s probably alright. Or Deaton needs him inside to perform an exorcism or something. Anyway, what they need is to get inside. Stiles nudges Derek’s upper arm lightly as he passes by and Derek glares but follows, the dopelganger snickering and getting his arm twisted for it, crying out in pain for the laughing.

Inside Isaac tries desperately not to get distracted by puppies but after a nod from Deaton and a silent confirmation from Derek, he and Scott are crouching beside cages and petting the excited squealing balls of fur. Even if Stiles isn’t paranoid, ok, he totally is; this doesn’t seem like the best course of action with the skinwalker/witch/shapeshifter on their hands. The fact that only Derek seems to agree with him isn’t even funny.

After Derek is made to let go of clone Stiles actual Stiles notices how he tries to subtly stand between him and the actual Stiles and isn’t sure if he feels some kind of proud happiness or is mad on the behalf of his dignity and masculinity.

Deaton clicks his tongue, inspecting the man’s broken wrist.

“You know how Derek gets. The brute.” Other Stiles says conversationally and Deaton chuckles. Actually chuckles, as Derek suppresses a grumble.

“I was wondering what happened when Mr Stilinski’s spark suddenly became a full-blown forest fire but now I see.” Deaton leans down to inspect one of the curling peculiar tattoos and smiles almost fondly.

“Can we… no fire analogies. You can just say I’m awesome and we’re cool.” Deaton’s sharp eyes see something in this sentence Stiles doesn’t catch, something obviously more than the Hale fire reference, but then they’re back to chatting like old buddies and Stiles just feels like he’s in an alternative reality and his world is spinning out of control.

“What is it?” Derek’s the first to snap, his patience running low. Deaton smiles at him as if Derek was a child asking him why the sky was blue. Scott and Isaac get up, finally distracted from the puppies, even if Isaac is cuddling one now, scratching behind its ears.

“ _He_ is the same Stiles Stilinski you have here.” Deaton gestures to Stiles and the boy huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Just a little bit older, a little bit more magic.”

“A lot more magic.” The older Stiles smirks and makes his eyes turn shiny white for a second. Stiles startles and Derek is fully in front of him, growling at the man perched on the table, claws and fangs out. “Woah, not going to harm myself, you know.”

The older Stilinski hops off the table and goes to rummage through a shelf, fishing out a candy and popping it into his mouth. Stiles isn’t sure if his familiarity with Deaton’s office should encourage them or make everything even more fishy. Then he screws up the wrapper and Stiles watches in slow motion as it hits Derek on the chest.

Deaton has to stand between them so Derek wouldn’t jump him.

“It’s best if you ignore him.” He says. “He’ll be away soon enough. It’s a mishap and it’s not his fault he’s here.”

“I’m supposed to let him roam my territory?!”

“I won’t ‘roam.’ I’ll be away as soon as I can. I know you don’t trust me but I could… offer you a blood vow?” Deaton glares at the other Stiles and the man just shrugs. Whatever a blood vow is Stiles doesn’t want to know. He’s researching it first thing when he gets back. “Alright, no blood vows. You can look after me? And your betas too? You do have a lot of other things on your hands right now but I could be…” the man pauses and then his eyes light up with an idea: “I could spend time with Peter!”

Well now Stiles is sure. The other him is evil. There isn’t a person on earth that would willingly spend time with Peter.

 

**Derek**

Of course. It’s just his luck. Two Stileses. Two annoying meddling impossible kids, even if one might be older than him. Even if one might be out to kill them. Even if one might not be Stiles, though he’s doing a pretty good impersonation, unable to keep his mouth shut while Derek drives them back to the house.

“How was I supposed to know?! I’m blaming you by the way.” His red cape, and how ridiculous is that, is folded in his lap, he points a long tattoed finger at Derek and Derek is trying not to flinch and has to resist the urge to break it in half. “If you _ever_ told me you didn’t trust Peter at this time, I wouldn’t… do. A lot of stuff. That potentially could’ve ended up with me dying!”

Derek feels mildly threatened by the familiar flailing and the fact he can’t tie up the man anymore. Doesn’t his wrist hurt from all the hand gestures? Doesn’t his head hurt from all the babbling? Derek suppresses a groan as “future Stiles” makes a large intake of breath, ready to drive him into a grave with his voice alone.

“Well the cat’s out the bag now. So might as well tell you Peter’s ok. He’s actually really nice once you get used to the mortifying jokes.”

Derek hears Stiles, normal Stiles, the Stiles from the now, his Stiles (he can’t even figure out how to call them in his head, how is he supposed to do it outside of it? He figures his Stiles will remain ‘Stiles’ and the other one will be ‘Stilinski’), make a hmping sound and is filled with dread at the notion that the only sane person in the car except him is the kid.

Scott believes everything Deaton says and “he smells like Stiles. Weirder, but Stiles-y”. And Isaac believes everything Scott says, regardless of his alpha’s words. Derek tries to think of at least one human being agreeing with him as a good thing instead of thinking that it’s Stiles agreeing with him.

Maybe it’s Peter’s plan? Make them believe he’s not planning anything evil through something so unbelievable Derek would never suspect him capable of it? Stilinski is wearing a golden ring on his thumb and if Derek didn’t know better, he’d say it was his father’s ring. One that didn’t survive the fire and died with him in the ruins of the house. So there was no way Stilinski could’ve had _that_ ring. If it wasn’t all part of Peter’s plan, making Derek even more confused and hoping he’d blindly trust the man just because he’s supposedly tied to the Hale pack… Derek is stirred from his thoughts by a poke to the neck.

“Touch me again and I’ll break your other hand.” He sees Stilinski hide a wobbly smile as he leans back in his seat, lifting his hands up in a placating gesture.

It’s like Derek doesn’t have an alpha pack to worry about, like his betas aren’t missing and the one beta he has would rather have another alpha, like his uncle isn’t back from the dead, scheming something. No, there has to be a future Stiles, that might appear to not be a future Stiles, that has to weight on his life now too. Derek is happy he’s at least getting rid of McCall and Stiles for the summer. He wouldn’t be able to keep his cool around them and he doesn’t want them getting into this.

He can’t trust them and he can’t burden them with it. Even his uncle was too much for the kids to handle and the alpha pack… The alpha pack would break them. Derek isn’t sure he himself will come out of it unmarked.

Stiles and Scott leave in Stiles’ car, not before Stiles makes ‘I’ll be watching you’ gestures at Stilinski, Derek asks Isaac to find Jackson and tell him not to come over today and when the boy leaves, follows Stilinski inside.

“Peter, I really need you right now.” Derek startles. He knows Peter’s close by but Derek’s a werewolf. He can hear his uncle breathing and moving outside the house. How Stilinski knows he’s there troubles him. Peter hesitates outside even though Derek’s sure he wants to see this creature with his own eyes. “Oh come on, Peter, seriously?! I’m not waiting if you’re going to be a dick about it!”

Stilinski stomps to the stairs, giving Derek a smile when passing him, and crouches down, taking out the board hiding Peter’s laptop. He then sits right there on the floor and starts it, entering Peter’s password and getting access. Even Derek doesn’t know Peter’s passwords.

“You can stop glaring, you know?” Derek’s listening to Peter approach, distractedly snarling at Stilinski. The man isn’t even looking at him, typing away on the keyboard. “I won’t leave for another four weeks, minimum. And you need to keep searching for Erica and Boyd.”

Peter walks in, door creaking and threatening to fall off its hinges. Stiles does lift his eyes then, giving Peter a blinding smile, fingers never ceasing movement on the keyboard.

“Nice tattoos.” From Peter’s voice Derek hears that his uncle knows exactly what the tattoos are for, what kind of spells are etched into Stilinski’s skin, making the air around him feel electrified and charged with ozone. Stilinski smirks and lifts the uninjured hand to tug at the hem of his shirt, revealing more patterns covering the skin, his collarbones, a flash of chest.

“There’s more.” He’s winking at Peter now and the older man is laughing, confidently walking past Derek and leaning into Stilinski’s space now. What the hell?

“I like older you more, I think.” Stilinski isn’t even looking at the computer now, just smirking up at Peter, smiling like he’s seen an old friend.

“Can’t say the same,” he shrugs. “You look better like this. Less wrinkles.”

And Derek is lost. Utterly and completely confused and out of his element as Stilinski and his uncle indulge in a banter, Stilinski’s expression fond and open.

“Where are you staying?” And the closed up unreadable expression is back the moment the man looks back at Derek.

“He could stay at my place.” Offers Peter but Derek shuts him down instantly. Peter looks like he’s going to try and persuade him but Stilinski’s up and patting his uncle on the shoulder.

“I… wanted to stay at the house? If it’s not too much trouble. So, thanks for the offer but it’s Derek’s decision.”

And now he’s just outright mocking him, trying to placate him and to tame him with smooth words. Derek growls, making his uncle roll his eyes at him, but Stilinski stands sure, brows furrowed in determination.

“I’ll go, try and look for some herbs I need to get back. I’ll be staying at the house and you can check up on me at an assigned time or we can think of a way of communication that’ll please you. But I’m stuck here for now and I’m not a threat. While the alphas are. Erica and Boyd are alive and you need to keep searching for them.” He can’t detect a lie in his heartbeat but it’s not that hard concealing lies if you know how to work around words and half-truths. If the man lived with werewolves long enough he can probably even make a convincing lie without batting an eye.

“You won’t tell me what to do!” Derek can’t handle the calm tone, the subsided flailing, the piercing eyes. This can’t be Stiles, it’s just not the way he is and he won’t let a stranger fool him.

“I won’t, big guy. I won’t. Because you’re smarter than that. Because _you_ know what to do. And it’s definitely not chatting with me all day.”

“We weren’t chatting. I was watching you.” Derek is losing his patience, he’s confused and angry and already has too much on his plate. Why did it have to happen _now_?

Stilinski just rolls his eyes in a similar manner as his uncle and doesn’t say anything.

“If something, anything, goes wrong, I’ll rip you apart.” And there it is again: the wobbly smile and Stilinski is looking down at the floor, a faint salty smell of tears momentarily passing in the air. But then he’s looking back up, smile big and fake, holding a thumb up in agreement.

***

Stiles takes to spending time at Derek’s house. And he isn’t quite sure if it is because of Scott not being able to spend time with him as much as he did anymore, or because he wants to keep an eye on his older double. Anyway, whatever reason, it’s unbearably annoying to have two Stileses in one room with you.

Stilinski tries to hint a couple of times that Derek needs to go help Isaac and Peter in their search for the missing betas but Derek shuts him down without a second thought. He _is_ helping. Maybe it’s even better that Stilinski thinks he doesn’t have time for it. Yeah, Derek is half dead from exhaustion and suppresses yawns, but at least his enemy doesn’t have the upper hand.

Stiles is trying to help too and Derek is sure he won’t really be useful with his research and his google, but he lets him sit there, clicking on links and grumbling that if _he_ had access to Peter’s computer he would most certainly do his job faster.

Derek is taking a break from working out, the exercise entirely to keep himself awake, and is going through a charred half-burned book, staring at the same page aimlessly for the best of the last five minutes. He turns the page carefully, trying not to get too comfortable on the couch but he’s gotten so used to sleeping in any place, no matter how uncomfortable, that he feels his muscles relaxing and his blinking become slower, eyes closed for too long. He needs to do some pull-ups if he wants to stay awake.

“Derek, are you even listening?” Derek snaps his head to look at Stiles, closer to him now than he was before. And, damn, he really needs to catch up on sleep if he let the kid sneak up on him like that.

“No!” It’s childish. And stupid. And he pushes Stiles out of the way as he gets up from the couch.

“Dude, rude!” Stiles is hot on his heels and when Derek halts to a stop, he slams into Derek’s back, making Stilinski snort. When Derek turns to glare at both of them, Stiles is three steps away from him, rubbing his nose, and Stilinski looks like nothing happened, clicking away. He hates these reactions. Derek will do something, usually snap at Stiles, or Stiles will comment on something making an ass of himself, and Stilinski will huff, or try to suppress a laugh. It’s unnerving and makes Derek’s skin crawl but he won’t ask.

Stiles absently watches him as Derek does his pull-ups, getting sweaty fast in the summer heat. There’s a thick smell of arousal in the air but he doesn’t stop so it won’t get embarrassing for any party. He knows Stiles is a teenager and that Derek’s body is definitely something he could’ve gotten turned on by, it’s not like he has much of a choice. Derek remembers all too well being a teenager. Even if his childhood didn’t last long.

“So, uh…” Stiles clears his throat, turning away and rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks visibly burning up, “Don’t you think the house-”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

Derek jumps down with a dangerous creak from the floorboards. It’s not like he doesn’t tell Stiles to shut up all the time, but it’s different when it’s the stranger saying this. Stiles obviously thinks so too, because he’s up on his feet, clumsily staggering as he unfolds from his position on the floor.

“Hey, you’re like supposed to be me! You are _not_ allowed to tell me to shut up! And how’d you even know what I was going to say?”

“You don’t believe I’m you so your argument is invalid. And wait to ask about it for a couple more years.”

“What-”

Derek shushes them and even Stiles has sense to shut his mouth after a few moments of affronted gaping. There’s someone staggering through the forest. The blood scent is strong but Derek recognizes the stranger as Isaac and is rushing outside to help him, Stiles following him, leaving Stilinski to sag back against the wall, not interfering. Following up on his promise not to.

 

**Stiles**

Stiles is running through the thick underbrush, stumbling and trying not to get a branch to stab him in the eye as they hit his face. It’s dark and creepy and he can hear growls and yelling somewhere behind him and when exactly did Beacon Hills’ preserve become this? But Stiles has a target – a red cape ducking and reappearing in front of him, and he’s going to follow it until he exposes the person wearing it.

Stiles was going to follow the plan: stay in the house for one more hour after everyone left and then go to Deaton if there was no contact from them. Stiles was getting inside his car, ready to pester the mystery vet until he gave him something to fight off the werewolves and run back to help Scott and the others, Peter and Jackson not so much. But then he noticed his fake double in the rearview mirror. And he was running into the forest, cape like a red flag begging for Stiles to follow him and expose his evil plans.

Now that the growling crunching sounds of a fight were getting closer Stiles was starting to think that maybe he didn’t make the right decision in the end. And… he lost him. He lost the dopelganger from the future!

Stiles freezes in place, trying to be quiet and catching his breath, knowing perfectly well that his heartbeat was loud enough for the werewolves to find him if they wanted. He almost yelps in surprise when after the silence has gone on for about a minute, or ten, he’s not relying on his inner clock to tell because he’s panicked, just slightly, not scared to death in the middle of a dark forest filled with blood-thirsty beasts panicked; he blinks and when he opens his eyes there’s another pair of eyes gazing at him from a few feet away. The eyes are red.  
Stiles tries not to jump out of his skin and his laugh sounds strained, fright and nervousness bleeding through.

“Ok. If you wanted to scare me – it worked. I was on my way home, Derek, I’m leaving.” But Derek growls and steps closer and of course it isn’t Derek, Stiles _knew_ it wasn’t Derek. The alpha’s bald and has curly sideburns. And is, maybe, even bigger than Derek in the muscles department and this is as intimidating as it sounds. The wolf roars and then there’s a swooshing sound and he’s falling back, staggering and roaring again, in pain this time.

“RUN!” Yells his own voice from behind him and even if the evil clone planned his death step by step and is luring him into a false sense of security, Stiles _doesn’t_ care. He turns tail and runs back, hoping that he’s running in the right direction, the right direction being the relative safety of his car.

There’s more growling and screaming from every direction and he doesn’t know where the alphas are and where his wolves are, and then he freezes when he hears himself let out a pained yell, his brain catching up and supplying that it’s his clone screaming, not him. Of course, he shouldn’t have stopped, because there’s a dark silhouette of a woman in his way, as she leaps down from a tree and in a show of his majestic grace, Stiles falls over, trying to crawl away from her and colliding with a thick tree trunk.

He doesn’t get enough time to think about death and how his dad would find his body in the forest, like Laura’s body on that night that started it all, and isn’t that ironic; because Scott is appearing out of nowhere, colliding with the alpha female and they roll away in a flurry of claws and limbs.

The teenager isn’t sure how he gets up, or how he starts running again, the screaming and the sounds of bones breaking and skin being torn to shreds following him, but his legs seem to function when his brain decided to pretend it’s dead. Was it all a plan of that future him? Did he plan it all? Did he lure them into the alphas’ hands?

Someone’s running out of the trees beside him and Stiles yells, but is met with Isaac’s golden eyes, wide and scared just as Stiles’ are. Stiles acknowledges him by gasping out his name, breathless, and Isaac just nods, leading him somewhere into the forest, keeping close, and then, just as suddenly, disappearing and leaving him alone in a tiny clearing.

The boy has time to imagine every possible way he’s going to die there when he notices two figures hunched closer to the bushes and the tree line.

“Stop gaping and help me, Stilinski!” Jackson. Could’ve been worse. Stiles runs to his side to see that the second person is the future clone, drifting between consciousness and sleep, bleeding out from his side. The moment Stiles and Jackson get him up he comes to his senses with a sharp pained intake of breath and starts cursing at them demanding they bring Lydia. The “No” is said by both Stiles and Jackson at the same time and the older Stiles just keeps cursing at them, threatening and begging and cursing even more.

The sounds of fighting are long left in the forest, or maybe it stopped but Stiles isn’t hopeful. When the three of them are almost by the house, Derek catches up to them, looking wild and dangerous with all the wounds and blood covering his body and face.

“Derek!” The injured Stiles latches on to him like a man drowning. “Lydia! Get Lydia here! I can’t be a werewolf! I need her blood! Now!”

“Fuck, no!” Stiles is met with a growl in response and the fake him clutches Derek’s forearm, wincing at the pain in his side but Stiles is not holding him up any more. He’d let him die. He didn’t know it was a bite. Here’s to hoping that it won’t take and they have one problem less.

“Just this once. She’s immune and I _need_ it! If you don’t bring her soon everything could be lost! And she feels guilty for rejecting me, she’ll do it.”

“She didn’t reje- She’s not coming!” Stiles stands in Derek’s way, not letting him pass the threshold of the house with the evil clone.

“I’m not going to hold her at my side and steal her blood every day! It’s just for now! Right _now_!” he’s looking up at Derek from where he’s half-bent over from the pain. “Derek, please.”

Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and sets his jaw as he’s watching Derek for a reaction. Of course he knows whom to listen to and that a real Stiles would _never_ put Lydia in danger.

“Jackson, get her.” Stiles gapes at him and Jackson whines just to follow Derek’s order when Derek flashes his red eyes at him.

Stiles is pushed out of the way and Derek and the fake him walk inside, Jackson jogging to his porsche and driving away. Stiles runs into the house after them as soon as he’s done cursing at Jackson and his submissive ass.

“I can’t believe you! How-”

“You were supposed to go to Deaton.”

“Yeah, and miss him scheming evil crap with the alpha pack behind our backs?”

His fake self, deposited on the couch now, curls in on himself and buries his face in his hands, muttering under his breath:

“No, no. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. This isn’t how it should’ve gone.” Stiles makes a triumphant sound at it.

“See?” He gestures to Derek. “In his plan we were all dead already! Tell Jackson to-”

“Shut up and get out if you’re not going to help!” Stiles backs away from the commanding tone and he’d growl at Derek if he were a wolf. What the hell is wrong with him? Last time he checked, they both didn’t trust the fake. And now they were all buddy-buddy, ready to sacrifice Lydia and jeopardize her health for… this!

Isaac is inside with Derek and the fake Stiles, Scott outside on the porch with the real one, when Jackson and Lydia arrive.

“You can say no.” Stiles tells her immediately but she enters the house, fearlessly walking up to the dopelganger and asking how she can help. Apparently his dopelganger knows everything about doing a blood transfusion from scratch and when he’s done stealing Lydia’s blood, Jackson takes her to the hospital so Miss McCall could get a look at that and make sure Lydia won’t get an infection thanks to this jerk.

It’s quiet at first, the werewolves healing slowly and evil!Stiles moaning softly, clutching at Derek’s wrist. But about a half an hour in, his eyes go wide and he rolls onto the floor with a cry. Derek follows him down and tries to hold him still as the man screams and thrashes around, arching and trying to claw at his own skin, wherever he can reach, as his tattoos glow and start fading, emitting smoke. He passes out a couple of times because of the pain and comes to screaming and crying, holding on to Derek’s arms as the alpha keeps him still.

After a couple of hours of non stop screaming, turned hoarse by the end of it, the fake seems to calm down, the tattoos gone from his skin, the bite not yet healed. In the quiet Stiles doesn’t even notice when he falls asleep.

***

The boy is woken up by something falling over him. He flails and kicks at it just to get his arm caught by Scott, smiling tiredly at him, holding a jacket in the other hand.

“Sorry, you looked cold. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” It really is chilly, the morning air cold before the sun will come up. It would be a nice morning, if only Stiles was in his own bed instead of a couch in the Hale house, and if all the little scratches and bruises from yesterday didn’t start aching unpleasantly. Stiles looks past Scott at Derek, sitting on the floor, the fake’s face pillowed on his thighs, a hand wrapped around the alpha’s leg.

“He sent Isaac away, but I stayed.” Stiles tears his eyes away from the sight and looks back to Scott. Did they spend the whole night like that? What the hell even was it? Did Derek’s dark poetic soul crave for someone as dark and horrible, so he had to become best buddies with _that_? “His wound is healed.”

It’s… not so bad. Stiles gets up, stretches, jogs into the forest to use it as a restroom, almost laughing at making his mark on Derek’s territory. It’s good his dad was on the night shift at work, because with everything that happened yesterday, he knows he would’ve forgotten to call him and his dad would be worried sick by now. Stiles sends a text to Lydia, asking how was she feeling and if Melissa noticed anything odd. He figured that if she didn’t call yesterday – everything was fine. But it didn’t hurt to check. And he didn’t even try to ask her out. So the whole rejection thing the fake was talking about yesterday was ridiculous.

The first rays of sunshine are starting to light up the forest, waking up the bugs and birds, warming up the air and making yesterday’s night look like a nightmare. Like it never even happened. Stiles rubs a hand through his buzzcut. He shaved his head again, just to prove the dopelganger wrong, but maybe he should grow his hair out. To show it wasn’t the reason fake!him told everyone about…

Of course the calm is destroyed by a crash, shouting coming from the house, and Stiles runs back inside to see his clone with a set of bushy eyebrows and sideburns, eyes golden, claws and fangs out.

“Well isn’t someone happy to be alive.”

“Shut up!” Scott is in front of Stiles in a second, shielding him from the wolfed-out dopelganger. Derek is hovering close by, claws out, ready to stop him if he does anything. “I’d better die! This is- this-” he growls, the noise turning into a howl that shatters the remaining window frames.

“I’d rather you die too,” Scott turns towards his best friend and pulls a face that tells him to shut up but Stiles can’t. He can’t hold it in. This is ridiculous! Everything is ridiculous! “Yeah, I know, I never wanted to be a werewolf. But what’s so bad about it? Tops dying on _my_ list!”

“Really, Stiles? Really? You want an explanation?!” He shouldn’t be feeling like he’s in the wrong here but that’s frighteningly similar to what Stiles feels under the fake’s stare. “I am _nothing_. I can’t do _anything_ anymore. I can be caught just by using mountain ash! Get me close to wolfsbane and see what happens! I won’t even be able to walk into a house if it’s shielded! _Everything_ I was – erased with one bite! Tell me, does it sound good to you?!”

“I’ll help.” Derek is quiet when he says it. Well, good for Derek – more pack members, more power. Only the fake looks even angrier as he turns to Derek and shouts:

“I don’t need _you_!” But then the claws and sideburns are gone and he visibly deflates, staggering until he’s sitting on the floor, shoulders shaking silently. “Thank you, Derek. Thank you. But I’ve seen you train your betas enough times to work it out myself. Just… forget I exist. Forget about me. Work on your problems, do everything you’d do if I wasn’t here.”

“What the hell is his deal?” Whispers Stiles in Scott’s ear. This just can’t be his future self. It’s impossible. He doesn’t want to grow up to be _this_. It’d really help if he knew if it _was_ him. At least then he’d try and never make the same mistakes he did to become like this.

 

**Derek**

The alphas back off after that as if the night Stilinski got bitten didn’t even exist. Derek is used to being scared and confused but it leaves him tense and restless. At least now he has one worry less: Stilinski is as human as they come. Without the traces of magic previously polluting his skin, he smells like Stiles and strangely like pack, luring Derek into a false sense of security. Also Derek’s pretty sure he never heard about anyone but humans taking to the bite. It’d kill smaller shifters and have various effects on different creatures, magical or not. So at least now he’s sure about Stilinski being human… not entirely human any more.

Stilinski panics for a bit, freaking out over getting bitten by another alpha than Derek and instantly claiming that even if Derek doesn’t like it, he’s not going to be an omega and submits to Derek, baring his neck. Derek takes a hold of his arm and lifts it to give it a light bite, making the man shiver, and that’s it. Derek has another beta that he can’t really control or command. He’s surprised he is even considered an alpha at this point, he doesn’t understand how his mother was able to rule the pack with kindness because it doesn’t seem to work for Derek.

It’s not like he trusts him but it’s easier to feel more secure around him when he knows the man’s a wolf too. As a human he could’ve understood everything about werewolves and read everything about the rituals and connecting the human and the animal side, but it’s not the same as being it, living it. And Stilinski isn’t doing so good on that part.

The man refuses to leave the house, staying in the guest room on the first floor even though it’s missing half a wall and the roof is in one piece there only by chance. Derek often hears him shouting and kicking at walls in frustration when he can’t control the beast inside him, failing again and again. Yet he doesn’t give up, as frustrated as Derek knows these routine exercises would make Stiles, especially if they were repeating for a week now, with no success. And he can kind of relate to Stilinski? He sees the way the guy tries, he senses all the frustration and pent-up anger and he knows what that feels like. He knows that he was exactly like that at sixteen, was like that for years after that, and maybe if something equally horrible happened in Stiles’ life he had no other choice but to become stronger? Become angrier, more aggressive, mistrusting? Derek knows that this future older version of Stiles had to kill to survive. He had this look in his eyes, a survivor. Derek isn’t saying that he trusts him. But he at least deserves some help. It’ll be for the best for everyone anyway, with the full moon inevitably coming closer.

Stilinski is laying on his back in the middle of the mess that is the Hale house’s backyard, too tired and spent from failing repeatedly over and over, unable to do anything without shifting. He notices Derek coming before he even sees him and that’s a big accomplishment for an untrained turned wolf, but Stilinski just groans and turns onto his stomach, pulling himself up to his feet.

“What do you need _here_? It’s not me you’re supposed to be with.”

Derek just shrugs in response, taking the rest of the distance between them in three leaps. Stilinski groans, covering his face with his hands.

“Alright, I _might_ need some help. Lots of help.” The man peeks at Derek through his fingers, smiling at him and Derek decides that keeping an eye on the man and maybe being able to find out some information about the alpha pack and Boyd and Erica if everything works out was a good plan with which he couldn’t go wrong.

Stilinski has his arm broken three times by the end of their training, he’s bleeding out, clutching his arm close to himself, sweating profusely, red in the face from all the exertion, but in just four hours he’s accomplished twice as much as he tried to master by himself. Being a werewolf comes so naturally to him Derek is surprised he spent a week unable to keep in the wolf, because he only wolfed out three times without intending so so far.

Even if the new werewolf was tired and spent, his arm hurting, slowly healing, his body language was screaming of happiness and he never gave off intense feelings like that, never let any emotions bleed through so much, so Derek took a chance.

“Why aren’t you helping us if you know how to deal with the alphas?” And then the ‘happy’ just disappeared, Stilinski scowling at him from where he was sitting on the ground.

“Some things _have_ to happen the way they must. Like a constant point in time. No matter what I do and say – it’ll happen.”

“Then why-”

“And it won’t happen _right_ if I help.” He gets up, a grimace on his face as he forgets about his injured arm for a second and swings it sideways. “If you think I haven’t thought about it, Derek, you’re wrong. There are things I hate in my past that I’d rather never happen. But they made other things possible and I’m not ready to sacrifice them for an easy victory.” The man is close to him, his heartbeat steady, trying to fool Derek into trusting every word. Derek takes a step back and Stilinski seems to shake himself out of some trance as he backs away too.

“You’ll take them down.” He smiles at Derek, the smile not reaching his eyes. “And if anything unexpected happens I’ll help however I can. But don’t ask me to talk.”

This isn’t an answer and Derek isn’t done with him, but that’s a lot more words than the older Stilinski offered him at the start. It’s a fair exchange and Derek plans to ask more as time goes. Knowing they’ll come out of it alive is giving him a sense of power. He isn’t too hopeful because nothing was ever easy in his life, but at least now he knows that whatever is going to be thrown at him, he’ll be able to take it.

“Do you want me to help you a couple more times?”

Stilinski rolls his eyes at him and pushes at his arm halfheartedly.

“Stop looking so smug, oh great werewolf Yoda. You know I need your help.” Then he seems to backtrack on what he said and tries to look resigned all of a sudden. “Just a couple more times. And only when you’re free from searching for your pack.”

“Why are you here?” He has to try, going small at first will get him more answers in the future. Stiles just chuckles and shakes his head.

“Real subtle, Mr Wolf. I got into a fight with a coven and they had… you could say – their long lost woodoo uncle over. Their magic combined with mine and poof! Here I am, looking at your constipated expression again.”

He wonders if they’ll get to fight covens soon, because the man is talking about it like it’s no big deal, like it’s a weekly occurrence. There’s something hidden in the words, something more than Derek can understand, but it’s subtle and he knows Stilinski isn’t going to talk any more: the resigned distant man back.

“You’re ok with sharing this, but not what happens now?”

“You won’t even realize what I’m talking about now when the time comes and stop fishing for information. I’m not telling you anything.”

Derek shrugs, berating himself internally for the smile tugging at his lips. Maybe he likes older Stiles more. Even if he’s still a mix of emotions and flailing limbs once he gets excited or gets lost in thought, he’s calmer as a whole, more bite in his words than now. And Derek has to remind himself that he doesn’t trust him. But since he became a werewolf it’s hard not to want to. It’s like knowing that one of his kind would never be able to hurt him as much as a human. Even if he has his own uncle to prove him wrong.

Derek is on his way to check the train depot for any signs of intrusion, getting an apartment wasn’t the only reason they left it. The same symbol was left on the door of one of the trains, as the one on the house’s door. And then there were some junkie kids, stumbling upon the depot and claiming it as their lair. It’s not like Derek cared for them, Scott was the one who apparently had time to care about everyone. But Derek didn’t want their deaths to be his fault. And he didn’t want the hunters to think he was in any way involved in the deaths; when he hears a yelp and then there’s thrashing around, someone caught in the bushes. Derek had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

He crossed the distance on all fours, appearing in front of a Stiles, tangled in the branches, with his multiple shirts riding up and dirt covering his clothes from all the twisting and turning.

“What are you doing here?” The boy glares at him from where he’s tangled in the branches and tries to free himself once more, slipping again. Derek can’t help a smug smile.

“This is _not_ funny! You could help me out, you know.” Derek doesn’t move from his spot in front of the boy and soon enough Stiles is back on his feet, brushing off his clothes and trying to burn a hole in Derek with his glare, pouting. Derek guesses it’s supposed to look menacing.

Stiles makes a step toward him but under Derek’s glowering stare backs away, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. Derek wonders when the smell of fear stopped being there as a constant mix and when it started turning into arousal. Derek hated teenagers. God, sometimes it would even be both and that _wasn’t_ healthy.

“So what, you’re werewolf buddies now?” Stiles mirrored Derek’s stance, crossing his hands over his chest and looking pointedly at the man. He couldn’t handle standing that still for long though, unwinding his hands and gesturing at Derek almost instantly. “Oh no, stop using your eyebrows to communicate! You don’t trust him, right? Why the hell are you helping him then?”

“Why don’t you trust _yourself_ so much?” it’s petty but Derek can’t really begin to explain what he feels. He doesn’t trust Stilinski but he’s so much easier to trust than people. And then there’s the ring on his thumb…

“Because it’s _not_ me! I read about it! There are creatures that can steal your appearance and maybe he’s just waiting for you to feel comfortable around him and he’s going to eat your face off!”

“I doubt it.” How is he supposed to know? He’d love to be sure and know if it’s true, but he _doesn’t know_. And all Derek can do is stay close to Stilinski and make sure that if he does attack, it won’t be one of the pack that gets hurt. And then there’s Stiles, who thinks his future self is a flesh eating monster and was on his way to the house where it lives just now. “Stay away from the house.”

Stiles makes a double take, mouth hanging open. Derek isn’t even sure how the boy is still alive with his penchant for finding trouble.

“Leave him alone. Try and do something – and I’ll tie you up in the forest, leaving you for the alphas.” Stiles is taking a big gulp of air, preparing to kill Derek with the power of gibberish. But instead of flailing limbs and blabbering, Stiles looked resigned all of a sudden. Almost as if he was offended. But it wasn’t Derek’s fault. Stiles should know better…

“See if I’ll ever help you again.” It was nothing to worry about, because there was this blip of a lie in the boy’s heartbeat, but his face looked determined. “Just try and barge into my room and ask to find something for you again!” Derek almost sighed in relief: this was more familiar. The anger, the loud voice. “When he tries to bite your head off – don’t even come crying! You really think you can do without my help? Well, we’ll just have to see, because I’m not helping any more! No more! Nada! Nyet! Noh!-”

“Are you done?”

Stiles flips him off before stalking back the way he came from, and Derek can hear him muttering curses and mocking Derek, talking in a lower voice and sounding nothing like him. Derek follows him at a distance until he’s sure Stiles is really leaving and then resumes the trail to his original destination.

 

**Stiles**

Stiles was surrounded by morons. Scott was allowed to be open and trusting bordering on stupid, that was just who he was. Isaac obviously was whatever he thought Scott wanted him to be, and Derek… Derek was the biggest moron of them all. Then again, the other part of Stiles’ acquaintances were dicks: Peter for example? Stiles didn’t even want to talk to him. And Deaton? Stiles just spent the last _hour_ trying to convince the man to help him and explain at least a part of what was going on, somehow ending up talking about adopting a stray puppy every time.

Stiles is spending hours in front of the computer screen, surfing the internet from his phone when he isn’t at home, doped up on pills, coffee and energy drinks. He found at least three close matches for what creature “future him” is. Every new one worse than the other. But Stiles has to figure him out and expose it for what it truly was, earning himself a life worth of sarcastic remarks for which he won’t get shoved into walls.

Everything seems easier and perfect when there’s already three empty cans of Red Bull on the floor and Stiles is rather happy with himself for figuring out that the other him must be a changeling, sucking life slowly and steadily out of people close to it until there’s nothing left to steal, until you’re sick and when you’re asleep it makes its final move. Derek probably doesn’t even feel it, with his wolfy regeneration skills, and Stiles wonders for how long will the creature be able to steal the werewolf’s energy without him noticing. There’s one problem with the changeling theory but it’s not like it’s significant. Not after three energy drinks and a coffee. The creature usually takes a form of someone dear and close to the person it plans on killing. But who says Stiles isn’t dear to Derek? Maybe he just has a horrible way of showing it? And then there’s that tidbit where the changeling kills the person whose form it’s taking first… Yeah, alright. Maybe it’s not a changeling then. But it’s weird as hell and maybe it has some kind of power over werewolves? Making them believe it… Stiles sighs and tries another search, opening new tabs and attempting to filter the truth through the gore and bullshit most of the sites provide.

There’s no school so Stiles’ schedule gets even more fucked up than it usually does on summer break. He ignores sleep for two days, sleeps for an hour and a half, goes through more research for almost another twelve hours before collapsing and sleeping through an entire day and night. So after another coffee and the forecast promising a nice sunny day, Stiles decides that his research needs more solid facts.

The forecast lied: it’s scorching hot and Stiles regrets stepping out of the house two minutes in, but he is caught in a loop of pointless research that more often than not leads him to shady sites and episodes of Supernatural. That’s why he needs it. He needs to see the shifter for himself and, with all the knowledge he gathered, to figure out what it is.

Last time Stiles tried to get to the Hale house Derek caught him half way and stalked him back to the jeep. Maybe even farther, Stiles isn’t sure. And he’s not sure he really wants to know. But this time there’s no Derek to stop him. He didn’t even use the usual path, opting for a more secretive and shady way to the burnt down Hale property. Everything is going quite nicely so far, that is until Stiles hears growling and sounds that are unmistakably a fight. He told them! He told Derek! He fucking _knew_! Or it’s the alphas? Or Peter decided that it was time to attack?

While Stiles goes through all the horrible scenarios in his head his feet are carrying him to the house on autopilot, throwing caution and any sense to the wind. The sight of Derek and monster!Stiles clawing at each other and drawing blood though? That makes him remember how human and breakable he is. Stiles isn’t stupid, he grabbed a piece of charred wood on his way in. But it doesn’t seem to do much to the monster, except for making it turn it’s maiming spree from Derek to Stiles.

The claws slicing through his shoulders are still kind of a shock, at least Stiles attributes his lack of pain and emotions about it on shock. There are fangs in his face and the boy has a fleeting thought that lunging at the creature with a piece of wood for a weapon was a bad bad idea. And then the fake is yanked off of him, claws dragging through the flesh of Stiles’ chest. The teen is crawling away, knocked to the floor by the werewolf that attacked him, and presses a hand to his chest, feeling warm liquid soak the ripped up shirt and seeing it paint his skin red.

Derek is pressing the monster into a wall, roaring so loud the walls must shake, and the fake collapses, its face morphing into Stiles’ human face. And then instead of killing it, or at least chaining it to something and kicking a few times for good measure, Derek turns on his heels and stalks towards the real Stiles, eyes burning red.

“What the hell, Stiles!” Stiles wasn’t sure he didn’t have a concussion, because:

“What?!” The monster behind Derek starts to get up and Stiles points at him, mouth open and eyebrows lifted incredulously.

“I was training him, you idiot! I told you to keep away!” Derek grabs him by the elbow and yanks him up, pain flaring up. Oh, Stiles was wondering when he’d start feeling it. It’s quite a bit more than just unpleasant and Stiles winces.

“Stay still.” Stiles would snort if he wasn’t bleeding out and as Derek is taking away his pain, veins colouring black and leaving Stiles feeling a little numb, drugged, Stiles doesn’t take his eyes off of the fake that apparently wasn’t attacking Derek ans Stiles got clawed up for nothing. Good to know.

After a bit Derek steps back, releasing Stiles’ upper arm where he had a hold on it.

“Take the shirt off. I’ll treat the wounds.”

Other!Stiles pushes off the wall he was leaning on all this time, his eyes going from golden to the natural whiskey-colour, seemingly unconditionally; making Stiles tense and take a step back and then closer to Derek, just in case.

“Derek, I’ll go. The scent of blood…” the older werewolf nods at him without turning back and the fake walks into the house instead of walking past Stiles to the door. How thoughtful of him.

“Get it off.” Derek’s voice is more snippy and irritated now and Stiles pulls an incredulous face at him.

“Don’t trust him!”

“It’s not his fault. He was doing fine before you ruined everything.” Derek, tired of waiting, tries to slice up the shirt even more, to get it off of the teen, but Stiles bats his hands away and gets rid of the shirt in one move, without getting tangled in it on which he congratulates himself. He knows his shoulders would protest against the clipping move if Derek didn’t take his pain away but he refuses to be grateful for it because him getting scarred was Derek’s fault in the first place.

Derek turns around and walks into the living room without a word which, Stiles suspects, means ‘follow me’ and after digging around in some kind of cupboard, charred and broken, like everything in the house, tosses a half-empty bottle and some kind of rag at Stiles. The boy almost drops the items thrown at him, not really expecting this but it seems to be all the help Derek’s offering, so Stiles settles on the couch. He scrunches up his face in a grimace at the smell from the bottle – he thinks this alcohol could kill if you actually tried to drink it, and dabs the rug, at least it looks clean, in the liquid. The cuts sting unpleasantly when he dabs them with the alcohol, but he makes sure to take care of them all – wiping them off with the dry end of the rag and then using the end covered in spirit.

There’s a ripping sound and Stiles looks up to see Derek shredding his already damaged shirt. Stiles makes a displeased sound but it’s too late now. And he thought he’d be able to save it too. It was a really awesome shirt… Derek is kneeling in front of the couch, just beside Stiles, facing the boy, and tells him to stop moving again. For a werewolf Derek is doing very good with the bandaging. Stiles wonders if he ever had to help his human family members and that’s why he knows what to do.

Once Derek’s done with bandaging him up, he gets up and tugs off his own black shirt. It has holes in it from claws and isn’t looking its best, but Derek growls when Stiles tries to protest and the boy puts it on. The shirt smells of sweat and blood and his shoulders are beginning to hurt again too. The shirt is too big even if Stiles is almost as tall as Derek and it makes him feel weirdly intimidated.

“I’ll give it back-”

“Don’t bother.”

“I’ll even wash it for you so it doesn’t make you smell like me and my blood. I’d say that’s a good offer.”

“No.” Stiles purses his lips and resists rolling his eyes. “I don’t care. Throw it away. Or whatever. I don’t need it back.”

“O-kay.” Stiles drawls out. “So… about the training…”

Derek just glares down at him.

“That’s going well, huh?”

“It was, yes. And then you showed up.”

Stiles pulls a face.

“But you _don’t_ trust him.” He isn’t entirely sure if it’s a question or a statement but he _isn’t_ sure if Derek did start believing the Thing and if Stiles’ research about brainwashing and creatures affecting werewolves was indeed necessary.

“I don’t.” Eloquent as usual. At least some things never changed.

“Then what the hell, dude?”

Derek gives him a look like Stiles had just proved to him how stupid he really is and Stiles is almost sure that half of it is because of the ‘dude’.

“Because,” oh, Stiles didn’t expect an explanation. “I don’t want this,” Derek gestures at Stiles and his new injuries, “Happening again.”

“Aw. I knew you were a big softie under all this gruff-” Stiles yelps as Derek lifts him to his feet with a growl, holding his elbow firmly in a grip, like he did before.

“Move it, before I get the urge to finish what older you started.”

Stiles gapes at him and squeezes in the space between Derek and the couch, fleeing. He thinks he would’ve been offended by Derek’s words. If he didn’t feel Derek stealing some more of his pain before sending him away. Stiles was right, Derek _was_ a big softie.

 

**Derek**

Derek doesn’t intend to eavesdrop, it’s not his intention when he goes to see how Stilinski is doing. But here he is, listening in on his uncle and his… what, beta? But he can’t make himself stop. He doesn’t need to, Derek reasons with himself. It’s for the good of the pack, it’s for the best, if Stilinski talked to him instead of his uncle, this wouldn’t even be happening. He doesn’t even understand them half the time too so there’s no harm in staying at the outskirts of the forest, masking his scent, trying to figure out the cryptic communication.

His uncle and Stilinski are both getting entertained by this exchange, Derek can feel it from where he is. If smug was a scent he’d be overwhelmed just by breathing the air around the house. And it’s not like they’re even talking about something important: their conversation staying casual and never straying from general words and terms, using metaphors, stopping in the middle of a sentence. Until Peter decides that it’s time for a more direct approach and is asking about the fire. Another fire. And Derek can’t believe that he let this happen again, in the future, but from what Stiles says – it doesn’t look like he’s lying. Maybe… maybe he’s trying to make Peter abandon this discussion by triggering him? Stilinski is talking about the pack, Derek figured out Stiles was living with them at the time. It explained the ring: maybe the man had to wear it to show to someone that he was under the pack’s protection. That’s a stretch but Derek’ll take it. And then the newly turned were sighs and in a small voice admits:

“I’ve lost too much, Peter.” After this he makes it impossible for Peter to get any information out of him, deflecting and blabbering, never giving a straight answer to anything, not letting Peter get any deeper.

Derek doesn’t go into the house then, he runs away, trying to figure things out for himself, trying to clear his head enough for at least something to start making sense. At least he’ll be able to test Peter’s loyalty and check if his Uncle volunteers the new information and tells Derek all about it. Derek wants to make Stiles talk. He can force him, that’d be easy. He knows how to make a human beg and plead and be ready to tell anything just so he’d stop. But he can’t do it. Derek still has nightmares about killing his own Uncle and he knows that was the right thing to do. But torturing someone to get information? He knows how to do it. Doesn’t mean he’s willing to or ever did. That’s the hunter’s way. And it’s Stiles. The boy can annoy him and drive him nuts, making him want to slam his head against a wall for a minute of silence, making him show too many emotions, forcing him to hate Stiles even more for this loss of control. But that’s not enough to want to see him in pain, to hurt him himself, injure the boy more than an occasional bruise.

And it’s not just his Stiles that can see through him, through all the walls he’s built, through all the angry flashing eyes and fangs. Even jokingly knowing that Derek’s too soft on the inside. It’s Stilinski too. Acting like he knows him, knows _about_ him, about his weaknesses and flaws and still doesn’t hate him for them. Doesn’t look like he’ll use this knowledge to try and destroy Derek.

Derek uses a thick tree to get to an abrupt stop, leaving deep claw marks in the bark. He needs to stop this. He’s not a kid anymore, hasn’t been for a while. He made too many mistakes and isn’t going to make new ones. He can’t trust anyone, not even his pack. And he most definitely can’t trust strangers. Who else must die for him to stop falling for a gentle smile and a few kind words? Support shown only to get under his skin because his help and alpha status are the only things needed?

He needs to return, to train Stilinski, but the house smells like smoke and death and he can’t make himself go back there. Derek resumes his run, going fast through his territory in vain hopes to find a hint at what the alphas are planning, at finding Boyd and Erica. Even if he knows he won’t find anything, he wants to have this excuse, to have a reason not to come back to the house.

Next time Derek halts to a stop it’s because of a stench. A smell hitting his nose. Blood and fear with this underlying familiar scent. He’s close to the school grounds so it could be some kids being cruel and playing a prank on their fellow student. But that scent, that familiar scent makes him jog up to the lacrosse field, hoping it’s just some kids, hoping it’s not an ambush, hoping he isn’t walking into a trap and knowing perfectly well that he is.

“Oh my god! You seriously think he is going to come? For me?” Of course. Of course it had to be Stiles. The boy falls down from the force of the slap he recieves from the female alpha. It looks like it’s only her and one of the twins there but Derek doesn’t really hope he’ll get so lucky. The others must be waiting, hiding. And even with the two alphas – he’s not in a good position right now.

But he can’t leave like that and there’s no time to call help. Scott should be damn grateful to him when he saves his stupid friend, captured only to get to Scott! Derek rolls his shoulders, feeling the bones in his face shifting. They’re behind the bleachers and Derek makes a show, slowly appearing out of the dark, his glowing eyes the first thing they’ll see. The woman cackles in glee.

“What were you saying, kid?” Derek acts before he thinks, eyes turning on Stiles, still sprawled on the ground, probably trying to look small and harmless.

“You’re useless!” he growls and the kid jerks in place. Derek notices the female alpha’s amused grin and the twin’s surprised expression out of the corner of his eye but he can’t let his focus falter.

“Hey. I was trying to help!” Good. Yes, keep it up, Stiles. Derek is taking wide strides towards the kid, trying to ignore every instinct inside him screaming at him to not let his eyes wander away from the two alphas.

“Yeah? All of your help ends with _this_! It would be so much easier if I let you die! Or killed you myself when we met!”

Stiles’ heart is hammering in his chest and he’s backing away, trying to crawl away not taking his eyes off of Derek. He’s scared. So scared. And it shouldn’t hurt. That’s what Derek was going for and Stiles’ reactions were going to fool the alphas about his intentions but... He thought Stiles was over it, that he stopped being afraid a while ago, that he understood Derek wasn’t really a threat...

Derek passes the alphas, exposing his back to them, but trying to play it cool, stalking towards the boy and then crouching beside him, grabbing him by his torn up shirt and lifting him to eye level. Stiles’ hands claw at his arm and he tries to kick at him halfheartedly but he’s numb from panic. Derek growls loudly, mouthing a ‘hold on’ right after, and flings Stiles over his shoulder. Of course, the clumsy monster nearly gets him in the face with a sneaker and grabs his ass with both hands, trying not to fall over, but Derek is running already, fleeing. The alphas are roaring in anger behind them and Derek will never outrun them, not with a human weight on him, yelling and cursing, but he has to give it a try before fighting them. Stiles is just human, he will be the first casualty in a werewolf fight and Derek can’t let it happen.

The alphas stop following them long before Derek halts to a stop and this is not ok, if this is a trap, he doesn’t see what was the point of it, and what if it all is luring him into a trap? But Stiles stopped yelling, now grumbling and bitching instead, and threatened to be sick all over Derek’s back, so he throws him down, more roughly than necessary, and after a loud ‘Ouch’ the boy just keeps on with the whining. They’re close to the abandoned train depot and Derek makes a perimeter run around the place, sniffing out any potential danger.

“My ass hurts so much, maaan,” and Derek comes back to more whining. Great. “Did you really have to throw me like that? I’m already injured and hurt!”

Derek just bares his teeth in response. He can’t come out and tell him that it’s for not trusting him. Because Derek would be the first one to say that there’s no trust between the two of them. He said it a million times but, as an idiot, hoped that it was different, it seems. Derek grits his teeth, scolding himself silently, hating himself for even letting a thought of trusting Stilinski inside his head.

“I didn’t think they’d catch me that easily. Thanks for coming.”

“That’s the last time I do it.” He can’t really leave the boy alone but they’re not too far from the road, Stiles can get back home on his own, right?

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” The kid gets up and walks up to Derek. Too close. He should just leave, just go. The moment Stiles’ fingertips touch his shoulder Derek swivels around and slams the kid into a tree, making the kid cringe.

“I-” oh crap, he needs to get himself under control. What _is_ he even doing? What was he going to say? ‘I thought our evening in the pool meant something?’ Or maybe figure out how to make it sound even worse? Stiles interprets his silence as something else though, thankfully.

“Oh fuck, are they here again?” Stiles tries to peak over Derek’s shoulder, turning his head every which way. “But like- dude, even I got that you were bluffing the first time around, they aren’t _that_ stupid...”

Derek’s grip on the teen goes slack and he’ll hate himself for it but he asks:

“You knew _from the start_?” Derek lets sarcasm seep thick through his words but Stiles just frowns at him with an incredulous crooked grin.

“Well, yeah.” It’s not a lie. He even makes it sound like Derek’s the idiot here, so he shoves him against the tree one more time. “Dude, of course you’d come to save me.”

Then what the hell was the panic about? The fear? They smelled real... And Stiles can’t be this good at acting. And he definitely couldn’t be worried about the alphas figuring out Derek’s plan, right? He can’t trust so blindly that Derek won’t harm him. He’s an animal. He can lose control and try to kill him just because of a full moon! Well, no, he has more control than that but Stiles doesn’t necessarily know that.

“What the hell did you even do there?” Derek finally takes in Stiles’ appearance – the blood isn’t from any new wounds it seems, it’s the ones Stilinski left and that can’t hurt too badly if Stiles can blabber on like usual. The man turns away, purposely walking away to the depot, Stiles running to catch up with him after a beat.

“I decided to try something. Nobody wants to help me become Harry Potter so I’m trying on my own.”

“What did you do?” Oh god, this is nothing good, he just knows it.

“What’s with the accusations today?” Stiles hops ahead, giddy like nothing happened. “Just some internet magic. I’m not telling. You’ll just have to see for yourself. It’s supposed to work.”

The ‘supposed’ is not really helping Derek relax about it and he feels it in his gut that this’ll turn around to bite them in the ass, getting everything even more complicated.

Derek shoves Stiles sideways, making the kid stumble and almost fall over, and then jump right back, trying to shove Derek in return and not succeeding. So what if Stiles really trusts him? It only proves that the kid is an idiot. And doesn’t mean that Derek automatically has to trust him too. Derek pushes Stiles away again when the kid attempts another full-body shove, but this only makes Stiles try harder next time around, growling and clawing at the air, as if he were a werewolf. A very deffective weird werewolf. Derek stumbles a bit but he’ll stick to tripping over a root as his excuse. He just wanted the kid to stop, that’s all. And letting him think he succeeded was the easiest way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 is roughly the six chapters I posted before, revised and corrected.  
> also I made up some sort of symbolic ritual where a beta chooses an alpha because it felt more logical to me than just drifting from one alpha to another without consequences or ties being broken. So symbolic biting it is.  
> Some of the stuff so far might not make sense but I hope the chapters that will follow will clear that up.  
> I think I covered all the tags but if I missed something - please tell me. Maybe I'll add more as I go.  
> No beta so sorry for all the mistakes. As always - feel free to point them out to me.


	2. Remembering the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kind of a filler chapter

**Stiles**

_It’s early morning and the air is fresh and a little bit chilly when Stiles walks through the gaping hole that is there instead of a door in the house. There are noises inside and Stiles follows the sound with a tiny smile on his face, but it soon turns into a frown when he sees what’s going on._

_“Derek!” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest and watches as Derek, who is currently finishing nailing the floorboards turns to him, his face not the least bit guilty. “I told you to wait for everyone!”_

_Derek just shrugs and, dammit, Stiles_ can not _get distracted by his broad shoulders that look so amazing in a wifebeater. Of course the dick notices the hitch of Stiles’ breath and the slight increasing to his heartbeat. He then makes a show of rolling his shoulders once more and giving the young man in front of him a shiteating grin._

_Stiles will deny it to the day he dies that he pouted. He manly scowled. Not pouted. But it worked and Derek’s grin became a tiny private smile and Stiles shuffled closer, squatting beside the werewolf._

_“You seem so keen on doing this alone… maybe I should tell everyone you want to live here alone too?” Derek instantly wraps his huge arms around him and with an indignant squawk Stiles is swooped to lie with Derek on top of him on the new floorboards, that smell so distinctly of wood. He’s laughing and tangling his hands in Derek’s hair, tugging his face up from where Derek is rubbing it against his neck._

_“Next time – wait for me. Ok?” Derek gives a slight nod before leaning lower and covering Stiles’ mouth with his own…_

Stiles practically jumps up in bed, in his… own bed… at home. There’s a burning ache where the monster “from the future” clawed through him and when he looks down – the bandages are soaked in red. Crap. The pillow and the sheets are dirty too, and Stiles has to rush to the bathroom to wash the blood off before it leaves a stain. He makes quick work of the sheets, then taking longer with the bandages, sticking and refusing to peel off without hurting, but then they’re off and before applying new ones the teen takes a shower, careful not to get any soap on the claw marks. They hurt enough without the added effort. The cuts are puffed and the skin around them is an angry red, but they don’t look too bad and Stiles really doesn’t want to find out it’s actually something dangerous poisonous and horrible and that now he’s turning into a creature of the night because of them or something. So he decides that if this keeps up – then he’ll talk to Derek. Or Scott’s mom. Or Deaton. Somebody. He’ll talk to somebody and he’ll decide whom only if he has this problem any longer.

Bandaging himself isn’t working too well, but in the end the boy decides that as long as all the injured skin is covered – it’s a success. He’s searching through his drawers for something to wear, he can’t walk around his own house without a shirt on now, thanks to the dopelganger; when it hits him again. The dream. That was a damn _weird_ dream. Yeah, alright, he can admit to himself that he, maybe, not really, not that it mattered, had a couple of dreams about Derek. Derek was attractive, ok? And he wasn’t responsible for his dreams, no matter what psychology had to say about it. But this. This wasn’t the kind of dreams that he had about Derek. This was oddly domestic and sweet and Stiles was going to puke from his own thoughts and choice of words.

The boy sags in his computer chair and twirls it around, trying to think. He doesn’t want to go down yet. Or spend time on making himself breakfast. But his stomach is rumbling and he’ll need to go sooner or later, but for now he decides on later and stops the chair. The dream is slipping away the more awake Stiles gets but he tries to grab at it, hold it and figure it out even if it was terribly embarrassing.

Derek had a nice smile when it wasn’t fake. And he was rebuilding the Hale house. Stiles wanted to suggest it when he got interrupted by the fake… Maybe this really were his suppressed desires or something? The rebuilding of the Hale house with a weird twist? It didn’t explain the kissing… and then it dawns on him. It wasn’t a dream. It’s slipping away, but the sounds, the smells. It all felt so real. And Stiles’ hands. Well. His left one. It was covered in tattoos. The same as the fake had. Not as detailed, with less twirls and runes etched into the skin, but a lot like them. Stiles curses and gets up. Those must’ve been memories that were probably transferred through the claw marks. But if it was true then the other him was really… the other him.

Stiles pulls some pants on and bolts out of the house. The weather broadcast said it’ll be even hotter than yesterday today, and it all might be a clever trap designed to lure him in but he needs to see his dopelganger again and find out if it’s real.

***

It’s a vast difference: this house and the way it looked in the dream – looking like an actual house, no windows and the door off its hinges, but all new, paint still fresh on some walls. This time Stiles is cautious and listens for any noises and suspicious sounds, but it’s quiet and it seems like there are no werewolf fights happening this time so he goes in.

It appears that it’s quiet because there’s nobody inside. Stiles searches through the rooms on the first floor not daring to use the stairs that would take him to the second floor, but yeah, looks like it’s empty. It’s fine, he’ll wait. He has his phone with him, there are books in the basement and Stiles’ brain is a wonderful amusing thing he can use to entertain himself anyway. He needs to find out about the dream and he’s willing to wait for the evil werewolf clone. Even if he’s starting to believe that he might just not be evil.

Stiles spends two hours going through dusty old tomes, brushing up on his shifter knowledge, looking for new ways to stop a werewolf and some easy protection spells that don’t require blood sacrifices. It gets hotter and hotter and Stiles is practically a puddle on the floor when his future self shows up. He doesn’t spend time on pleasantries and asks straight out, getting to his feet:

“Are you and Derek together in the future?”

The other Stiles’ eyes flash gold for a second before he composes himself and, fuck. One problem down – future him won’t be trying to kill them if Stiles knows anything about himself. But like ten more new problems pop up just because of that.

“Well, yeah. We are all together, living in the house-”

“Oh stop it! That’s my lying face, I know when I lie!” Stiles rubs his face with a hand and groans.

“So now you believe I’m you?”

“Why Derek?! God!” ok, so not what he should be concentrating on but that’s disturbing. Yeah, Derek looks nice, but looks aren’t everything and Derek’s got the shittiest personality and every fantasy Stiles had wasn’t supposed to go any further than a quick wank… He should really stop. “Why are you here? What happened in the future? Is the pack-”

“I’m not talking until you tell me how you found out.” Future Stiles levels him with an expectant stern stare and Stiles crosses his arms against his chest in defense.

“You just proved it’s true, man. And I had a dream.” He adds quietly, mumbling under his breath.

His other self grabs him by the upper arm and yanks him forward and for a moment Stiles thinks he was mistaken and now he’s really going to die, but werewolf him shoves him back in place, stepping away himself. Stiles lifts his eyebrows at him.

“And what was that?”

“I scratched your neck…” he says, looking somewhere above Stiles’ shoulder, thoughtful.

“Is it important? Did you infect me? Am I going to turn now? Is this how werewolves share memories? Did you lose them after giving to me? Do you know what you shared? Why did you-”

“Stiles, god, shut up!” older him sighs and walks past Stiles into the living room. “I was so annoying…”

Stiles stomps after him. That was really rude. A future self should never be so mean to himself.

“Yes. That’s the way weres share memories. Or steal them. But it’s what only alphas can do. I’m not sure why it happened.” Future S. (yeah, Stiles thinks he’ll call him that) swivels around and levels Stiles with a glare. “What did you see?”

“I… will answer questions only if you answer mine.” Future S. leers at him at that.

“You want me to steal them back?” Stiles is not a werewolf and his future self behaves differently than him in some things, but he knows a bluff when he sees one.

“You just said you don’t know why it happened. I don’t think you can do it.” He moves back a couple of steps though. Just in case.

Older him sighs and growls unhappily.

“Fine. So, what _did_ you see?”

Stiles tells him about the house. And the kissing, unable to control the blush spreading across his cheeks. Older him breathes out a laugh when he finishes.

“Oh. That’s nothing. I thought-”

“What?!” Stiles doesn’t squeak. He does not. Future S. just laughs at him.

“We’re bisexual, Stiles. And Derek’s…” Future Stiles’ face takes on a dreamy expression and Stiles fakes puking.

“Ok, ok. I don’t care. But does he know you’re here? Your Derek. Why were you sent here? Dad… has to know about werewolves by now, right?”

“You know, the night I got bit – in _my_ timeline we kissed for the first time. You seriously missed out.” Werewolf him grins and Stiles just waves his hands around, as if Future S’ words were flies and he was trying to get rid of them.

“That is not what I asked!”

Werewolf him is frustrating and horrible and Stiles doesn’t get any answers he needs, future him winding him up so he even forgets what the questions were, too flustered to think straight.

“We can go at it all day, Stiles, and you’ll never find out anything unless I want you to, so you can spare us both the embarrassment. I could talk about Derek though. And how we spent this summer. It was really hot, and not because of the weather, if you get what I mean.”

Stiles groans and after a few more failed attempts to get any information out of the future self that didn’t involve how great they were at fellatio thanks to that mouth and oral fixation he stomps out of the house, grabbing the books from the basement that he was reading, grumbling unhappily. He just needs a break and then he’ll come back armed and prepared and will make his future self answer every question he has. Without making fun of him. You had to be a twisted special shade of evil to make fun of your own past self like that.

***

Stiles wasn’t ignoring the issue. The boy just had a lot on his mind and didn’t have time to think of a future he might not even live to see if they didn’t stop the alphas. Stiles was ignoring his future self. He didn’t come over in two days and he didn’t want to talk. Because he had a suspicion he not only wouldn’t get any answers, but would find out a lot more about things he never wanted to hear. So Stiles set out on a research: reading, googling, going to the library. But the three books from the Hale house (he probably should’ve asked someone if he could take them) were the most useful. Because, yeah, they mostly were about offense than defense. But Stiles knew some tricks. And he could make this work if he tried. He had a plan.

Gathering the ingredients wasn’t as hard as he thought. Maybe because the book was designed for werewolves, not witches. There wasn’t even a spell to activate it, you just needed an enclosed space and moonlight. A mountain ash circle was as good as an enclosed space as any and most of the herbs he needed to use grew in the forest, easy to find. Stiles wasn’t going to use Deaton’s help, after the creepy vet brushed him off like that, no way he would ask Future S, Peter was a big no and Derek would be better off not knowing or he’d try to stop Stiles. But this had to work, Stiles was almost a hundred percent sure.

Of course, nothing goes as planned and Stiles gets caught by two of the alphas while hiding herbs in strategic places behind the school grounds. He could entrap them now, but he really doesn’t want to be trapped _with them_ , so. He’d say he wasn’t scared, because he obviously wasn’t their main target, but getting thrown around and hit wasn’t really Stiles’ idea of fun. The alphas were stalling though, and soon enough, not without the scars on his shoulders re-opening and getting a few more hits, Stiles was out of danger. Even though he thought the alphas wanted Scott for some reason, not Derek. But Stiles didn’t mind. As long as he got away with everything intact, anyone could be the good Samaritan and save him.

He didn’t tell Derek about his plan though. He still was better off not knowing. And what if he told about it to his werewolf gang? It was better this way.

***

A few more days passed and with nothing happening and Stiles refusing to go see Future S, it wasn’t a surprise Stiles’ thoughts started to wander. Stiles didn’t think he was making the wisest decision, maybe he wasn’t even really thinking at all, but before he knew it, he was sending Danny a text, inviting him to go to Jungle with him. He didn’t want to go alone and with Danny at his side, he wouldn’t even have to use the back door to get in, probably. Danny’s reply was immediate and… crushing.

**this stopped being funny a long time ago.you should stop it stiles**

So much for camaraderie. Fine. Stiles could go himself. He was a healthy teenager who could spend at least an evening without worrying about a supernatural creature of the day tearing him a new one, and instead worry about his dad finding out he was drinking at a bar. And he did hope he’d have more luck with getting alcohol this time. Damn, he shouldn’t have shaved his head again.

Before it’s time to leave Stiles changes a couple of times, decides not to go even more times, and then just makes himself get up because his life is miserable enough and he needs to have a mindless night of fun. Stiles groans at the way that sounded, even without saying it outloud. Not the sexy kind of fun. Or maybe the sexy kind. He didn’t think that far ahead, ok?

He’s once again debating not going, but this time closer to the exit, when there’s a ring from the door and he freezes in place picturing himself dying a gruesome death, depending on who’s at the door. Sure, if somebody wanted to kill him, they wouldn’t bother to ring the bell… It rings again and Stiles braces himself, moving the curtain in the side window to take a peak at the killer. The killer’s Danny.

“Hey, hi- What-” is the first thing out of Stiles’ mouth and wow, that was new levels of horrible. Danny just smiles at him, though. Seemingly not bothered by Stiles’ brain damage.

“I wanted to say sorry. For that text. I was having a bad day and shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” Stiles would swoon if he didn’t think it’d embarrass him even more and that Danny wouldn’t take it as mocking. Danny just keeps smiling at him with his charming smile. Damn, why did everyone surrounding Stiles, even human, had to be so gorgeous! “Were you going somewhere?”

Stiles frowns, but then the frown is replaced with a grin and he waggles his eyebrows.

“The club. Changed your mind about not going with me, huh?”

Danny rolls his eyes and gives him a oneover.

“Not while you’re wearing the shirt.”

“But it’s cold!” Stiles protests and sees Danny trying to suppress a laugh. Stiles blushes. It’s not his fault he didn’t quite understand. It seemed like what Danny implied. And he’s been to Jungle. Plenty of guys didn’t have shirts on. He thinks. Or were they the dancers?

“Come on.” Danny brushes past him and confidently walks up, Stiles rushing after him up the stairs, trying to remember if his room contained anything incriminating. And what has his life become when ‘something incriminating’ meant werewolf business!

“Supporting stereotypes, huh, Danny? Giving me fashion advice?”

“Do you want to get past the bouncer or not?” Stiles shuts it at that and lets Danny choose his clothes for him, with Stiles ending up wearing a shirt he grew out of a year ago and Danny not even complaining about the Batman print on it, because superheroes were the thing now or something. Danny doesn’t ask about the bandages and that Stiles is grateful for.

If it was anyone but Danny Stiles would think it was a cruel joke where Danny led him to the club and left him a laughing stock, never able to get past the doors, in clothes that were a size too small on him and humiliated for the rest of his life. Even if it was Danny he was going with and it wasn’t his intention Stiles still couldn’t shake off the feeling that that would be exactly what would happen. But Danny nodded at the buff guy checking their fake IDs, and they just walked in after that. As simple as that. No humiliation. Stiles still didn’t trust himself not to get into something humiliating and embarrassing, but he was in the club! Legally! Alright, whooping loudly even with the music on, wasn’t an action too far from humiliation so Stiles just let Danny lead him away to the bar.

This time at the club is gradually better than the last time, granted, there was a kanima attack last time so pretty much anything would be better. Of course, the moment somebody tries to dance with Stiles the guy has to creep up from behind and place a hand on his injured shoulder, making Stiles yelp in pain and swing around, hitting the guy in the nose with the back of his hand. Nobody tries to dance with Stiles after that. And it’s not like it was really his fault. The guy obviously was going for a shoulder rub and those weren’t good for Stiles’ scarred up flesh. And who even creeped up, appearing from the back? Murderers, monsters and Derek. And no, Stiles didn’t need to think of Derek appearing behind him and pressing into him, trapping him between the bar stand and the heat of his body… Stiles was blaming the stupid dream and the stupid future self for this!

He wasn’t in love with Derek. Not even in lust with the werewolf. Because that was reserved for unattainable ice cold gorgeous strawberry blondes and even there Stiles was starting to lose the feeling. Not that he would confess to that. Well, of course, Derek was pretty unattainable. And ice cold, yeah. And kind of gorgeous in a gruff, manly way. But Stiles wasn’t into him. Not this Stiles anyway, not the normal Stiles before his brain spiraled into madness, he got tattoos all over his body and joined the leather jacket werewolf brotherhood. Stiles drops his head on the counter further proving his madness to everyone in the club, averting them from the idea of ever coming up to him. But Stiles was less prepared than he originally thought. A tiny voice in his head supplied that Derek was even less interested and Stiles just groaned, turning his head to look at Danny from his spot on the counter.

Danny looked… like a person who really wanted to be left alone, but seriously didn’t need to be. Stiles knew everything about being alone and mixed signals and he decided that he didn’t need a hook-up anyway and was going to spend the night by Danny’s side. If he really wanted to be left alone, he wouldn’t choose to go with Stiles.

Once the Hawaiian boy figures out what Stiles was doing, ignoring the guys that actually came up to him even after all the embarrassing incidents, he tells him to leave, go, have fun, tells him that there was no point in dressing him up like that if he didn’t plan on finding himself a hot date for the night, tells him he’s going to go and dance just in a bit with ‘thaaat guy’, pointing so that Stiles isn’t sure which of the three men in that direction he pointed at and he doesn’t think Danny even noticed where he pointed anyway. So Stiles spends the evening shooing guys away from them, drinking cola while Danny was getting plastered, because somebody needed to take the boy home.

Stiles stood with Danny, bent in half, puking his guts out, outside the club, in a shady-looking alley. And Danny only stopped apologizing when he had to puke again, retching and shaking. Staying at a place like that wasn’t really safe in Beacon Hills, but taking Danny anywhere while he was like that was impossible.

Stiles decided that it’ll be for the best if he takes Danny back to his own house, not Danny’s place, not that he even knows where he lives. But Danny definitely didn’t need his parents seeing him like that. And Stiles’ dad wasn’t at home. Stiles sent a text from Danny’s phone to his parents, saying he was ok and will stay at a friend’s place and drives home. Danny lets Stiles manhandle him, dragging his feet, dead weight in Stiles’ arms, the only thing he ends up saying is that ‘stairs aren’t cool’ when Stiles makes him use them to get to the bedroom.

Danny is asleep the moment he hits the covers, alright, he’s been asleep for more than half the road back. But Stiles still wakes him up making him drink some water with lemon and after that Danny’s out again. The teen covers him with a comforter and brings an empty bucket to the bed just in case. Now that the bed is taken, and because Stiles decides to stay to keep an eye on Danny just in case he feels worse, Stiles gets a thin mattress out of the closet and uses a maud in place of a blanket, stealing the pillow from Danny. He didn’t use it anyway. Stiles is set on staying up for a couple more hours, but is asleep as fast as the boy currently occupying his bed.

***

_“You’re useless!” Derek’s eyes burned crimson and his teeth were bared, fangs out. But he couldn’t move an inch further. The circle of mountain ash would dissolve in two hours, Stiles made sure it would. And Derek will be safe, too late to follow him. Too late to join him in a losing battle if everything goes wrong._

_“I’ll be back as soon as-”_

_“You’re nothing, Stiles! You’re not pack! You’re nothing to us! You don’t need to go! Don’t go!” Stiles presses his lips into a thin line and has to resist with all that he is not to just rush into Derek’s arms and hold him close until Derek is calm again, so he never has to hear that hitch in his voice that breaks Stiles’ heart. And the worst part of it is that it’s entirely Stiles’ fault that Derek’s like that right now. Stiles has seen Derek broken, shattered, hurt, devastated. It just never was he who made Derek feel that way._

_“I told you – I’ll be back in a blink of an eye. You won’t even get to miss me properly.”Stiles watches Derek let out an earth shattering roar that makes every bird lift from their perches in the trees. “I love you. I’ll be right back.”_

_Stiles turns away, but Derek’s talking again and Stiles can’t leave him. He just can’t. Not when Derek’s voice sounds so small._

_“If you die – I will bring you back. And kill you myself!” Stiles gives him a wobbly smile and looks away, because he can’t look in his eyes. This’ll all be over soon and Derek will be smiling at him again. And everything will be alright, “I love you.”_

_Stiles jerks his head up, making a doubletake, mouth hanging open. Derek’s eyes are trained on him, alpha red seeping out, replaced by the hazel-blue mix and a soft expression. It’s the first time. The first fucking time Derek decides to say it – is when Stiles can’t even touch him! Stiles stutters, unable to form words, his smile growing until it threatens to split his face and his eyes are stinging._

_“You fucker! I’m- I’m coming back. And when I do – you’re going to say that again. And again! And then repeat it until I get sick of hearing it. And then even more!”_

_“Just come back soon.” Stiles runs out of the abandoned warehouse, not trusting himself to stay any longer. He checks the guns and rifle, the knives strapped to his body, the magic running through the three main tattoos: one for protection, the other for the bond with his pack and the third one new, fresh and raw and hopefully useful; as he runs. Now he just has to save everyone and come back to hear Derek say that in bed too!_

***

Stiles wakes up happy, with a smile on his face, knowing that he’ll…

Stiles hides his face in the pillow. Damn these dreams. It’s easy to separate his own life from the other Stiles’. But not right after he wakes up. It takes a while to register everything, to take stock of where he is and what reality he’s in. To figure out that he doesn’t have to run and take out a flock of gargoyles that trapped half the pack and that Erica’s not pregnant. Not even here yet, still trapped by the alphas. To convince himself that Derek didn’t finally tell him he loved him. And that this wasn’t meant for him anyway. Not now, not this Stiles. And that that life didn’t belong to him. It took even more time to remember that he didn’t want it.

The boy feels guilty for stealing bits of someone else’s life like that. Even if that someone technically is him. But it’s not his fault he got the scars, that still bleed and rip if he moves too much. The memories also make him feel more... sympathetic, or something, to Derek. And he wants to think of Derek as the good guy. But his Derek is still an asshole incapable of smiling and using words to communicate. So the feelings are misplaced. He just has to remind himself of that. It kind of feels like older him is forcing this on him in a way, accidentally showing how good it could be if Stiles just tried-

Stiles is brought out of his thoughts with a groan from the bed and then the teen doesn’t have time to worry about an unexistant love life, running around to get the hungover goalie some aspirin and to cook something nutritious and healthy for breakfast that won’t make them both want to vomit.

Danny stays at his until noon, sending a text to his parents that he really is ok and trying to avoid looking at Stiles. Even if the other boy told him that what happened was ok and that he wasn’t mad and there was nothing to be embarrassed about, a thousand times already. After Danny leaves there’s a rap on his window and then without further ado, his older self jumps in, not even stumbling. Stiles isn’t sure if the newfound grace is because of the age or the werewolfhood.

“What’d you want?” As much as he reassured Danny that everything was ok, Stiles did feel groggy and wanted to catch some z’s, not have another werewolf crisis. Not for another day at least.

As it appears his counterpart isn’t there for a crisis meet-up. Nor is he there to tell Stiles anything important. He opens with bemoaning yesterday’s evening – telling Stiles that he and his Derek were at home, in bed, finally going to do more than just rut against each other when the Sheriff came home. Well, obviously, staying with Danny while he was puking was the better of the two options and Stiles congratulated himself on going right with his timeline.

For hours on end future him goes on about his and Derek’s first date, the day Derek burnt the steaks on the Sheriff’s outdoor party, about how Derek was so funny and charming and... alright, not in those words exactly, but the idea was clear. Stiles _was_ being forced into this relationship. Every now and then he’d notice future S sliding his fingers along the rim and over the ring on his thumb and Stiles tries not to think what a ring could mean. It’s not on the ring finger anyway, so he has nothing to worry about. He supposes.

Stiles decides that he doesn’t like spending time with himself.

Scott is busy with summer school, and anyway, one of the requirements of Scott’s summer was less Stiles at least for a while. And Stiles respects that… he does not. He wants to spend time with his best friend. But if he really wants to spend more time with him being in the same grade would be a must so Stiles doesn’t interfere. Stiles doesn’t tell him anything about the alphas showing up again and it seems like Isaac isn’t talking too. So at least Scott will be away from all of this mess. At least for a while.

Maybe it’s because Danny’s human, because he can’t tell Stiles that he’s lying or detect if he’s sad while smiling, but Stiles starts spending time with his classmate. He always knew Danny was a great guy, but he really is. Also Stiles knows damn well that he wouldn’t be Danny’s first choice but Jackson is spending all of his time with Lydia now and Stiles and Danny bond over crappy best friends. Stiles often feels guilty because of it. Because he wants some normalcy, wants some time away from the pack, but he's human. always been and will be. well alright maybe he'll become magic whatever. but anyway - that sense of pack? it's lost on him. He's got his dad and Scott and his mom are like extended family, but there are times when Scott knows Stiles needs his alone time and there are times when he just leaves him hanging when Stiles doesn't need that. but that's the thing. that's how it is. there are people he cares about deeply and he's not willing to expand that circle. Yeah, he'll help them, he'll sacrifice a lot for them, heck he'll fight the alphas for them. But he can't be with them all the time. The extended caring and all presence of the pack was making his skin itch and make him want to crawl up the walls. It' did not mean he loved them less. He just couldn’t be with everyone on full alert 24/7. Next thing he knows they'll be making themselves at home while Stiles masturbated.

Sometimes, though, Future S drags him to the Hale house and makes excuses to leave him alone with Derek. That’s stupid because Stiles and Derek don’t talk. Stiles just goes through his research, carefully turning the pages of the old burnt books, while Derek does whatever Derek does. Broods and frowns mostly. Well, Stiles does talk, but Derek ignores him so it’s definitely not working the way his future self pictured their alone time.

Alright, sometimes Stiles stares. Just because he can. He’s probably not allowed, but his mind spirals into a thousand different thoughts a minute so he’s not really responsible if his eyes linger on Derek’s bulky frame or stay a bit too long on his muscular arms and hairy forearms. Or stop on his face, trying to picture it without a frown, his memory supplying that Derek can smile and actually be genuine while doing it…

“What.” Stiles tries to will away the flush and hides behind the book he was reading from Derek’s scrutiny. He hears Derek heave a sigh and walk over to the couch Stiles is occupying, sitting next to him. “Found anything?”

“Hey, I told you – I’m not helping you.” Stiles sputters when he’s cuffed on the back of his head. “Well, now I’m definitely not helping!”

“What did you find?” the hand that cuffed him stays on the nape of Stiles’ neck and makes him flush, his heartbeat becoming a nervous rap. The moment it happens the hand is off.

“I told you – I’m like the magic vet now. Just pretend I just offered you to adopt a puppy while being incredibly cryptic.”

“You think I don’t have enough puppies?”

Stiles choked on air, whipping his head to stare at Derek to notice a tiny smile tugging at his lips before the werewolf schooled his expression to the usual scowl.

“Dog jokes, dude.” Stiles shakes his head at the man, trying not to smile and failing.

“I didn’t start it.”

“Yeah? _You_ were the one that walked up to _me_.”

“ _You_ were the one undressing me with your eyes.” Stiles chokes again, but for an entirely different reason now, face heating up.

He starts sputtering excuses, but snaps his mouth shut once he sees Derek’s smirk. The dick. The teen shoves at the man’s shoulder, scooting away to the other side of the couch because he doesn’t intend to get shoved in return. Derek’s shove, even a little one, might leave him with bruises for weeks and that’s not a look he’s planning on rocking for all of his highschool years, thank you.

The thing with Derek, this weird mean playfulness, or something, isn’t really bad or too weird. If only not for Future S’ stories of what sexual position they would’ve been trying out instead of what Stiles did this or that day if Stiles, this Stiles, wasn’t that big of an idiot. Stiles argues with his future self a lot, telling him that he should’ve been gone by now, if the past changed, but all the knowledge they both have about time travel is limited to the movies and TV shows they’ve seen through their life and they don’t seem to be a reliable source.

And the dreams. The dreams don’t end and Stiles has no idea how to make them stop. The books don’t have anything on it and Stiles doesn’t want to tell anyone so Future S doesn’t find out he knows more than he already does. So far the dreams had a pack meeting and the pack was a lot bigger than it is now; a banshee attack on some pack, while Stiles asked about the movies for the next Friday’s meeting to loosen the tension and prevent Lydia from snapping, she seemed very distressed about this particular issue for some reason; a dream about Stiles yelling at the pack and them actually listening to him and doing just as he demanded, with Derek observing from a distance with a fond smile until Stiles made him get to work too; there was… sex. It was weird and wrong and not only because it was Derek and him. Because it was Derek and _not_ him. He was looking into someone else’s life, seeing something private and personal. And looking at Derek in real life he couldn’t help but remember those moments. Whenever Stiles had a dream about Derek, before all of this, he’d picture sex with him as something rough, fast, maybe even a bit painful. Not the tender loving touches and sweet nothings whispered into Stiles’ skin as Derek slowly took him apart…

Anyway, the next dream wasn’t even close to any of the dreams he had before. Stiles crashed at Danny’s after the club: they left early and spent the night watching old horror movies, Danny allowing Stiles to sleep in bed with him after Stiles pinkie swore not to try anything funny; Stiles wishes he could erase that dream from his brain.

_He’s suffocating, choking on the smoke surrounding him. It’s in his lungs, in his eyes, his mouth. He’s disoriented and can’t understand if it’s screaming or wooden planks burning and breaking. A chunk of the ceiling falls right in front of him, sending a hot wave over Stiles, showering him with splinters and sparks, preventing him from moving further into the house._

_Stiles stomps down his panic because he can’t allow it to take over. He’s not walking out without dragging his stupid oaf of a Father out with him. Oh, he’s in for a scolding once Stiles finds him and makes sure he’s ok._

_Strong arms grab Stiles and haul him away and out, unceremoniously. He’s thrown down beside Peter, Chris holding him close, Peter rocking back and forth, claws out, eyes burning blue, trained on the flames that engulfed the Hale house. Again. Boyd, and it was Boyd who dragged Stiles out, is pressing him against the forest floor, not letting him move and rush back inside and Stiles is too out of it to even remember to use anything but his human strength to try and push Boyd off._

_“Derek went after him. Derek. Will. Save. Him.” The thought of Derek inside there too only makes Stiles thrash harder, panic overriding every other instinct. He needs Boyd to let go, to fucking let him get to his Father and Derek fucking_ now _! Boyd shouldn’t even be here, should be at work, but Erica forgot her purse and sent Boyd to get it for her so here he is!_

_And that’s when the house crumples. Like it’s made of cards. It just folds on itself, with a terrible sound, the remaining windows bursting out in a shower of glass, followed by a cry from Peter, his claws scratching at Chris’ arms and Stiles can’t do anything but watch, eyes glazing over, the heat and noise surrounding him, making his world smaller and smaller. Even if the firemen aren’t still stuck on the road, something preventing them from getting here on time, it’s not like they even have anything to save any more._

_Boyd’s grip goes slack and Stiles pushes him off in an instant, running to the house only to be caught again. Stiles claws at Boyd’s hands, bites, kicks, screams inhaling even more smoke… until there are tears in his eyes and he just sags in the werewolf’s arms. They’re gone. Dad. Derek. He felt it. They were gone..._

Stiles came to with Danny’s face hovering above him, slowly realizing he was on the floor beside the bed, still feeling the smoke choking him, tears streaming down his face, still feeling this aching emptiness inside of him.

“Stiles, are you-”

“Nightmare.” He manages to choke out before getting up and locking himself in Danny’s bathroom. Danny, the sweetheart he is, is standing on the other side of the door, asking him if he needs anything or if there’s any way he can help and Stiles, Stiles can’t talk. His throat clogged up, sobs wracking his body. To realize that it wasn’t actually his Dad and Derek, that he shouldn’t feel so empty and devastated because of it, is impossible. Anyway, it _does_ happen somewhere in the future and the thought makes Stiles crumble and feel the pain all over again.

After a while, he doesn’t know how long, Stiles does get up, splashing some water on his face, not really hoping to get rid of the redness in his eyes or feel fresh and better, and the first thing he does is call his Father. Every second he doesn’t answer brings Stiles closer to the edge, the boy relaxing only after he hears a tired “What is it, Stiles?”

“Oh! Oh, hi, Dad. I thought I was calling Scott! I have no idea how I ended up dialing you.”

“Stiles,” the sheriff’s voice is uncertain. “You sure you are ok?”

“God, Dad, of course I am! You’re not though if you even think of eating burgers today! You know I’ll find out if you do!”

“Yeah, yeah. See you later, son.”

They say their “I love you”s and Stiles hangs up with a relieved sigh. Danny doesn’t ask him any questions, but calling his Father was as good as telling Danny about the “nightmare”. Stiles excuses himself and leaves without eating breakfast even when Danny insists on it, probably not wanting him to drive in the state Stiles is. But Stiles needs proof. Even if the dream was as good as any, he just wants to hear that, maybe, maybe it was just a dream.

The boy slams the door of the Hale house open, not bothering with pleasantries.

“ARE THEY DEAD?! IS IT TRUE?!”

Stiles freezes in place, taking in the living room. He… didn’t expect Derek to be there…

 

**Derek**

 

Derek heard the boy coming long before Stilinski did, only hearing the jeep when it was driving up to the house. But it wasn’t even the jeep Derek heard first – it was the kid’s heart. Beating out a scared nervous rhythm.

“ARE THEY DEAD?! IS IT TRUE?!” Stiles pauses in the doorway, mouth open and Derek is washed over by two waves of panic, from both Stilinskis. Stiles stands there, gaping, breathing labored.

“Oh my god!.. Is it true that… in the remake of Buffy they kill her _and_ Angel in the second season finale…” he ends it with a groan, hanging his head low.

Derek knew this happened. It was pretty obvious. He shakes his head, rolling his eyes.

“Who died in the future?”

Stiles glimpses up at Derek before staring back at the floor, his shoulders sagging in defeat. Oh.

“And why does _he_ know this and I don’t?” he kind of suspected that he’d die before getting a chance to grow old. It’s surprisingly not that shocking to him, getting proof. Still, someone else died. And Derek’s more interested in the second person rather than himself.

Stileses share a look, as if exchanging thoughts telephatically.

“He scratched me.” rushes out the younger one at the same time the older Stiles says “I was trying to throw him off track.” Seems like their telepathy doesn’t work too well.

Derek’s thankful that his Stiles hasn’t learned how to lie yet so it’s him who Derek grabs by his shirt and pushes him against the wall, face first, examining the marks on his neck as the boy squirms and protests.

“You’re not an alpha. Why is this happening?” Stiles freezes under his hands.

“Oh my god! I think I know! It’s because him and you-”

“STILES!”

Derek turns to glare at the older Stilinski, baring his teeth at the man. Stilinski looks shocked, maybe even a bit scared, his eyes glowing gold.

“Alright, it really doesn’t matter why.” Stiles gets away from Derek’s slackened grip, pushing Derek away and stepping away out of the man’s reach. “It happened. And the dreams won’t stop.”

Stilinski growls and Derek takes a step closer to Stiles, in case Stilinski looses control.

“They don’t concern you! You already changed everything!” and then Stilinski’s face softens, changing in a blink of an eye. “You changed everything…”

Derek feels left out, not knowing what’s going on and what they’re talking about. Except that somebody dies in the future. If Stiles changed everything then why is Stilinski still there? Shouldn’t he have disappeared the moment Stiles changed the past? Or something in him changing to accommodate the changed past? Derek hates not being able to understand things.

“You’re telling me everything.”

Both Stileses begin to protest but Derek stops them, baring his teeth in a snarl.

“Or I’ll take the memories by force.”

There’s maybe a minute’s silence in which Derek practically hears Stilinski making a decision. Stiles already decided and is ready to talk. Derek has no idea why he still falls for Derek’s threats but he’s not going to start complaining.

“Fine. I don’t know how much he’s seen – all the information you’ll get will be from the dreams. I’m not talking.” Amazing. Stiles kept a secret and didn’t spill. Of all the times…

Derek walks to the couch and sits down on the table in front of it, waiting for the two Stileses to follow suit, the men following him shortly and occupying a side of the couch each. Derek lifts his eyebrows nodding to Stiles to go on. Instantly the boy blushes.

“Well, there, in _that_ future, not that I don’t like you man but I don’t like like you, so I think it’s safe to say that it’s that future, not this future-”

Stilinski is groaning and Derek holds his hand up, stopping Stiles’ ramble.

“I didn’t get a word you said.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles pulls a face and takes a deep breath, spilling everything on the exhale, fast and crammed: “You have a great pack, a great house, an awesome boyfriend and you die in the fire with your boyfriend’s father.”

“Who’s my boyfriend’s father?” Derek tries not to growl, but fails. Why is it so hard getting an answer out of the kid when all he does is talk? Obviously the man was someone important because Stiles wouldn’t freak out so much over Derek’s death.

“So you’re- Wait, you’re ok with having a boyfriend? I never even- You’re gay?” Derek doesn’t even try and contain his growl this time.

“My dad.” Stiles mumbles, looking down at his hands all of a sudden like they are the most interesting thing in the world.

“Oh.” Derek turns to look at Stilinski. “But you said the past’s already changed.”

Stilinski gives him a nod while Stiles snaps his head back up, gaping like a fish out of water.

“Wait, wait, wait! So you are trying to tell me you seriously don’t care that in some twisted mad alternative universe you and I are _together_?!”

“Yes, Stiles. It’s obviously not happening here-” Derek doesn’t even have a chance to finish when the boy interrupts him.

“Why not? Not that I’d want that, but that sounded really offensive right now! Was that offensive?”

Derek doesn’t answer, trying to tune the teenager out, getting up.

“That’s not important.” Derek interrupts him. “I need the details, Stiles. I need every single thing you remembered from the fire – how it started, who was there at the time. And all the other dreams. I want you to remember every single one and tell me about them.”

“It’s cheating. You can’t-” Derek turns, face unimpressed, to measure Stilinski with a look.

“You’re telling me you _want_ that to happen?”

“I need time to think, ok? There are too many movies about horrible, terrible no good consequences to changing your past. I need more information before I decide.”

Derek doesn’t want him to think that he has a choice but Stilinski proved to be impossible in an argument, making Derek lose his temper before getting any answers and with Stiles here too this all might end with Derek maiming one or both of them. So he tells Stiles to get out and go home and gives Stilinski a limit of time to decide, going away to patrol his territory, fruitlessly inspecting it once again to find nothing. Derek spends some hours with Isaac and Jackson, training them, training the boys. Isaac is a fast learner and any praise, any gesture of kindness makes him try even harder, smiling brightly at Derek. Derek doesn’t know what to do with it. Jackson states he’s leaving town later this month and Derek is so stunned and clueless of what to answer or to do he breaks Jackson’s leg and growls, making the boy whimper, saying he’ll think about it.

Derek is running away, through the forest, darkness descending on it as hours pass. He knows the pack that took him and Laura in would take care of Jackson if he asked; and here everyone thinks the boy’s dead. But they need all the help they can get and loosing Jackson, especially when there is an unpredictable alpha pack lurking on their territory, is just not wise.

The last thing Derek tries that day is tracking his uncle, but the older werewolf masked his scent too good, making all of Derek’s superior senses useless.

Once it’s dark outside, too dark for a human to be able to see, Derek stops his search and runs to his final destination: Stiles’ house. Derek uses the window to get inside and gets comfortable in the computer chair, not really intending to eavesdrop, but non the less hearing the boy scolding his Father and threatening him with salad and kale; Derek walks around the room, picking up and placing back random objects, all the while Stiles and the Sheriff watch a movie, both shouting at the TV and no doubt gesticulating as they tell the characters what to do. They say their goodbyes at the top of the stairs and Derek takes his place in the chair for Stiles’ return.

“MOTHER OF-” Stiles slams the door shut, pressing up against it with his back, breathing heavily, heart jackrabbiting inside his ribcage. “Can’t you like- call? Before trying to scare the crap out of me?! I’ll die before the alphas even get to me if you keep this up!”

Derek gets up, getting closer and making the boy, who relaxed a little, tense up again. Derek doesn’t stop until he’s in Stiles’ space, looming over him using that inch of height he has on him.

“Tell me about the dreams.” Stiles’ heart picks up on its crazy rhythm immediately and he tries to push his way past Derek, to walk into the room, but Derek’s hands shoot out, trapping Stiles against the door.

“Oh come on.” Stiles whines.

“Talk, Stiles.” And there he thought the kid was ready to cooperate.

“Well… There… Fine! I have no idea why you’d want to hear it, but our first time was presumably in this very same room when my Dad was on duty and you were all-”

Derek’s eyes bug out and the first thing he does is hit Stiles on the head, panic overriding any other instinct. It seems he hit him pretty hard too. But it’s only Stiles’ fault.

“Not _that_!” usually Derek is quiet but he can’t really control his voice too well. Not after what Stiles was trying to say. The man takes in their position, Stiles even closer, now that he’s curled in, caressing his head. And Derek takes a couple of steps back to put some distance between them.

“The dreams about my pack! About the fire. _Those_ dreams.”

“Well, you should’ve said so!” Stiles hisses angrily, rubbing at the back of his neck, face heated and eyes darting everywhere and anywhere that isn’t Derek. Stiles walks past him plopping on the bed and jumping up as if burned, both he and Derek obviously remembering what, supposedly, happened in this bed, in an alternative timeline.

“There weren’t a lot, really.” Stiles licks his lips and Derek looks away from him like he’s the flustered teenager and not Stiles. This is ridiculous.

“Then I don’t see why I still haven’t heard _anything_.”

“Dude, you think it’s a joyride for me? You know I actually feel everything that’s happening? I woke up choking on smoke, feeling some bond I don’t even have with my pack being cut!” Derek thinks his request was simple. He only asked Stiles to tell him what happened in the dreams. A couple of times. Loud and clear.

“Stiles.” Derek flashes his fangs and alpha red eyes at the boy. Stiles just huffs disbelievingly.

“ _That_ doesn’t scare me any more, Big Bad. Especially not since I know how cuddly you are and after I’ve seen you follow my orders like a good puppy.” Stiles’ smug expression falters when he sees the tick in Derek’s jaw – that little sign probably scaring him more than the red eyes, and he’s talking. He tells Derek about the new pack members, about their pack dynamics, knowing Peter didn’t betray them and was on their side was a relief, even if Derek couldn’t even be sure now, with their timeline being so different; knowing that the Argents live with them isn’t such good news, but that’s one of the things Derek’s happy isn’t going to happen and he _is_ going to make sure that doesn’t happen. Scott isn’t part of their pack. An omega probably, because Stiles’ never seen his pack with him. Scott’s an idiot. But he’s always around, probably because of Stiles. Stiles tells him about the creatures Derek only heard about in fairytales. And it’s a lot. All the new information. But none of it will be able to help them with their current situation.

“The rest is cuddles and sex.” Stiles opens his arms wide in a “that’s it” gesture, shrugging.

“If you remember any more details or have a new dream – you immediately tell me.” He measures Stiles with a look. “You can leave the sex out.”

“Don’t worry – you’re always at your top game.”

Derek makes a sound akin to a bark and rises from his chair where he sat for most of the talk. He leaves fast, without looking back or saying goodbye. A second more and he’d rip the kid’s throat out.

***

Derek’s phone vibrates in his jeans, waking him up. He rolls to the end of the bed where he left his clothes in a pile on the floor. All the circumstances, the alpha pack targeting his hideouts, Stilinski living in his house, Isaac spending all the time with him instead of his legal guardians; made Derek rent an apartment. Sleeping on an actual bed was kind of nice for a change.

When Derek glances at the time it’s almost 4 AM. It’s a text from Stiles:

**dude** Derek rolls his eyes even if there’s no one to see him do it. “Dude” is way better than Sourwolf or Grumpy Face, but… “Dude”, Seriously? Are these the nineties? **me the other me has gone bonkers.the pack asked him to stay but he said that the fire wasn’t an accident and went on a vengeance spree killing off everyone and everything in his way. Sweet dreams xoxo**

Derek cringes, reading the last part. Sometimes, almost all the time, he regrets giving Stiles his number.

With a deep sigh Derek falls back on the bed, laying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. In all honesty, he’d think the same. He doesn’t know all the facts, but he wouldn’t believe it was an accident right away. And he knows he’d be able to get out, crawl out, even burnt and injured. So the only reason he wouldn’t be able to walk out of the house would’ve been magical, something preventing him from it. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to save Stiles’ Father, but he’s sure he would be able to get out.

Derek turns to his side, pillowing his head on his bent arm. Maybe he decided to kill himself this way? Because he thought about it a lot, when he was sixteen. After the fire. And if he wasn’t a werewolf with instant regeneration – he probably wouldn’t even be here now. It took him a while to get over those thoughts and concentrate on his hatred, on the anger he felt, on wanting to kill instead of killing himself. But Derek from the future was… he seemed happy from what Stiles told him. A pack, a family, a home. Derek allows himself a tiny smile. Maybe his hyperactive alpha mate got on his nerves and he couldn’t take it any more.

The man flinches from his own thoughts. How can he even think of it as a joke? Derek sighs and lies back on his back. Anyway, now he needs to use what he knows. What he knows about Stilinski and Derek’s other self to make Stilinski talk. Maybe he _will_ have to ask Stiles about the more private dreams, about the details of that Derek and Stiles’ personal life. Because if Stilinski really loved him in that reality he would want to help him in this one.

***

Never did Derek encounter such a reaction to his smile, but here he is, with Stilinski pushing him away and trying to step back, bumping into a wall, breathing heavily. The beta’s whole body is wracked with tremors and his heartbeat is speeding up to a worrying pace. Derek just stands there, staring, as Stilinski digs his nails into his palms, balling his hands into fists by his sides, boring a hole in the floor with his eyes.

“Go away,” he manages through ragged breaths. “Please, go.”

“Stiles…” Derek tries again, reaching out, plastering the smile back on his face, until he sees tears running down Stilinski’s cheeks and Derek freezes over, panicking, wanting to run away but unable to move.

“You’re not her.” Comes a shaky voice and Derek doesn’t understand what he means. He must’ve meant “him,” his Derek… “You’re not Kate, Derek! Don’t you dare- don’t you dare and try manipulate me like that!” the man spits out.

Every word is like a slap to the face and Derek can’t control the animal inside for a second, wanting to rip his beta’s throat out for ever mentioning her and daring say that he was like _her_. But Derek reigns the feeling in, dropping to all fours and running out of the house, away from a shaking Stiles, away from his words, away from the charred remains of his house, trying to run away and pretend that he can run away from all the mistakes he made.

He runs, without direction, suffocating from a fantom smoke, clogging his windpipe, getting into his lungs. And when he stops – he’s standing beneath Stiles’ window. As if they’re the same, as if knowing that Stiles isn’t mad at him will make Stilinski feel the same. Derek listens to the boy moving around, shuffling papers, humming some tune under his breath, his heartbeat a little too fast but nothing out of the ordinary. Derek stands there for a while, just listening to the monotonous sounds, contemplating if he should go up. It won’t do any good though, won’t make a difference. Won’t make Derek feel less shitty about himself, maybe will make it even worse. Derek turns away and runs again. Knowing what he needs this time. With purpose, a little calmer after this break.

The loft is empty and Derek sighs in relief, shoulders sagging, too tired and messed up to hold a front in front of himself too. Derek sprawls out on the bed, letting his thoughts wander. And of course they instantly go to Erica and Boyd. And Derek can not lie in bed while his betas are away, in danger. He’ll have plenty of time to feel sorry for himself later.

Hours later, when it’s still light outside, like it is in summer, but you know it’s already late, with a gaping hole in his chest, after losing too much blood from being pinned to the floor with a rusty metal pipe, after going into a fight he knew he wouldn’t be able to win, Derek is trying to get back to his loft, hiding at any sound, creeping in the shadows. He’s so weak. He needs time to recover… Peter’s at the flat. Of all the bad timings this just might be the worst. Derek could _not_ let his Uncle see him in this state. And it hurt, that he couldn’t trust him any more. But now Derek needed to find a place to lick at his wounds, somewhere he wouldn’t have to look over his shoulder every second, somewhere he could not be afraid of an attack, the alphas changing their mind and deciding to finish what they started. He can’t go back to the train depot and Stilinski is at his house. Derek could try and hide at the school, but it brings too many bad memories and, honestly, that just might be the least safest of all the places he could go to.

He doesn’t have a lot of options. Two, to be exact. And he can’t remember Scott’s Mother’s shifts at the hospital. But he knows exactly when the Sheriff is out of the house, so Derek changes direction and limps to Stiles’ house.

The key is badly hidden and it wouldn’t take time to find it even with human senses. Derek doesn’t use the window, can’t use it: his ribs refuse to heal, puncturing his lung and filling it with more blood on every inhale, and that’s not even the worst of his wounds. So Derek uses the back door, slowly making his way up the stairs to Stiles’ bedroom.

The boy waves absently, eyes trained on the computer screen, jumping when he hears Derek fall onto his bed, letting out a yelp when he actually sees Derek’s state.

“How did- how’d you get in?! Dad- and- and the neighbors! You’re all- OH MY GOD! Is Scott alright? Are you- no, you’re obviously not alright- did they attack? Did they- what happened?!”

Derek groans unhappily, head spinning even more from the onslaught of Stiles’ questions. He doesn’t have to explain, he doesn’t owe it to anyone. And he doesn’t want, isn’t going, to admit that he brought this upon himself. He just needs his rest, some sleep. And then he’ll leave.

“I need to stay for the night.”

“Are you dying? You came here because everybody else could smell the stench of death on you and- no, you can’t die on my bed!”

Derek attempts a growl, but it’s weak and pathetic even to his own ears.

“Are you numb? Can’t you like- say- anything? How will I even explain you to my Dad? What should I do? _Is_ there anything I could do?”

“A bit of quiet would be nice.”

Stiles stares, affronted. Or it’s just his face. Derek really can’t bother to care right now. He just wants to sleep. The pain is as unbearable as before, were he a human he’d be long dead, and he just needs to pass out and sleep the worst of it off. Till then he’ll just keep feeling this nausea, every broken bone in his body, every bleeding gash.

“I need sleep. I’ll leave as soon as I’m feeling better.”

Stiles huffs, unhappy, but judging by his grimace he’s accepted that the only way to get Derek out is to push him all the way off the bed, down the stairs and out of the back door. A range of expressions crosses the kid’s face before he’s reaching out to the hem of Derek’s shirt.

“What.” Derek hates how unthreattening he sounds.

“ _What_.” Stiles mimics. “I’m helping. Believe me, you’ll feel a lot better without your clothes clinging to you. You can even use the shower later.”

Stiles gestures for Derek to lift up a little and makes fast work of getting him rid of his soaked henley. Derek can’t help the moan of pain when he has to lift his hands, pressing his lips into a thin line and squeezing his eyes shut. Stiles mutters apologies under his breath and Derek isn’t even sure the boy registers that he’s doing it.

“You don’t have a shower, do you?” he resumes as if he never stopped talking, “I have no idea why you don’t reek like a homeless person yet, with the conditions you live in.” The boy’s hands are on Derek’s belt and Derek absently thinks of stopping him, but lies back on the bed with a relieved sigh instead. “You don’t lick yourself clean, do you? There’re things I’m not sure I ever want to find out about werewolves. Don’t tell me if you do. And even if so – I refuse to look at it – you’re taking a proper shower. Once you’re better.”

“Stiles?” Derek is so drained that he only now registered how elevated Stiles’ heart rate is. It’s calming down slowly but the boy had been on the verge of a panic attack just moments ago. “Shut up.”

“That’s so nice of you, Derek. I offer my bed, my services, which sounds really weird when I’m getting you out of your jeans-”

“Stiles.”

“Yes, yes, Shut up, Stiles. You shut up.” Derek wordlessly assists, lifting his hips up as Stiles drags his pants down, his underwear attempting to follow but Stiles makes sure the briefs stay. Lifting up makes the nausea and excruciating pain return. Stiles keeps muttering under his breath, but as long as it’s quiet Derek doesn’t stop him – knows it’s serving to calm the boy a little.

There’s a sharp inhale when Stiles sees the bone of Derek’s leg poking out from the flesh at a weird angle and turns away as fast as he can, unnecessarily folding the ruined clothes. Out of the corner of his eye Derek watches Stiles hiding the bloody clothes in the closet and fishing out a blanket that smells of stale clothes to cover Derek with it. It’s a little stuffy and hot underneath it, but it’s nice. Derek’s bed is big and comfortable and he likes to sleep on it without the covers, starfished out. But there’s something comfortable about being tucked in, in the heat of an old worn blanket and the confined space of a too small bed. Derek’s eyes are drooping, watching Stiles type something at a lightning speed at his computer, his voice a monotonous commentary Derek isn’t even trying to listen to. The next time Derek blinks he falls into a deep sleep without dreams.

***

He wakes up a couple of times, drifting in and out of consciousness. The room is always dark when he does. The first time – he doesn’t see Stiles and his heart sinks: the alphas decided that they didn’t do enough damage – they decided to track him down and finish the job. And of course they killed Stiles the moment the kid opened his mouth to talk back. But after a beat Derek hears voices from downstairs, the noise of the television. He concentrates, picking out Stiles and identifying the other voice as his Father, and falls back on the bed, relieved, not healed enough to face any kind of danger, Derek falls asleep in seconds; the next times the room is lit with a soft glow from Stiles’ laptop, Stiles’ figure always hunched over it, doing something every time Derek wakes up. His tongue feels like sandpaper and actually the inside of his mouth pretty much feels the same. His bones ache from inside and the wounds refuse to heal fully, bleeding and making the sheets stick to the dried bits of skin and tissue. But he doesn’t want Stiles knowing he’s awake. Because it’ll be noisy and bright again. So Derek sleeps.

***

The next time he wakes up the pleasant silence and darkness are both gone. Scott’s in the room, possibly trying to whisper, but Derek wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors could hear the angry hissing.

“And what if they came here? To finish their job?” Scott voices Derek’s thoughts pretty well.

“But they didn’t, did they?! What, I was supposed to kick him out? I thought you were all about being kind to man’s best friend! And if I _did_ kick him out – he’d just die on my lawn and how would I explain that to Dad?”

“Stiles! I’m not saying you should’ve let him die! I’m saying you _should’ve called me_.”

“Wasn’t it Scott’n’Isaac buddy time? How could I impose on that-”

“That’s nons- we would’ve came togeth- How do you know…”

“Scott, it doesn’t matter. Nobody came. Nobody’s dead. Derek’s not dead. Even though I’m starting to worry, if you haven’t managed to wake him up yet.”

It’s quiet for a while and Derek doesn’t even have to keep his heart beat even – it doesn’t have the strength to rise.

“Oh come on!” Stiles. “Stop looking at me like that, that’s not fair.”

“If this happens again – you _call me_.”

“I’d rather this _not_ happen again.”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll give you a call.”

Derek keeps his eyes shut until his werewolf hearing can’t pick up Scott any more.

“Water.” He barely recognizes the voice as his own.

Instead of thinking with his head and fetching the water, Stiles is scrambling to the bed, helping Derek sit up. His touch is gentle, afraid of hurting Derek.

“You ok?” Derek would love to express exactly how not ok he was by slamming the boy into something hard for being so stupid, but as for now he only can lift his eyebrow, incredulous.

“Right-right. No need for the-” Stiles waves a hand around his own face, getting up. “Whole eyebrow thing. Water, ok.”

Derek downs the first glass in one go and Stiles immediately rushes out to refill it. Derek drank, until his mouth felt less like a desert, Stiles sitting on the bed beside him, fidgeting but keeping quiet. He smelled like energy drinks and tiredness, but his heartbeat was fast, thanks to the energy boosters.

“I- you… shower.” Stiles finally decides on and Derek, once again, just lifts an eyebrow at him in reply.

“I meant not in like – me and you – in a shower. _You_ in a shower! I’ll show you where it is!” the boy is beet red and Derek fights hard to suppress a smile. Stiles shouldn’t be the only one to get on Derek’s nerves. Derek deserves to tease him a bit from time to time too.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Derek shakes his head once: no. Stiles sighs and stands up, watching Derek get up with more difficulty than he thought it’d be by this time. Stiles shows him how to use the fausets as if he really thinks Derek doesn’t know how. He must still be pretty on edge from when Derek barged in. The boy is practically out the door when he stops.

“Why did you come _here_?” Derek measures him with his patented look. He won’t answer, he doesn’t- Stiles seems to know it and just keeps talking after a second’s hesitation: “Because I don’t want all these ideas about our future to mess with your head. Because it’s- You don’t even like me. Whatever future me says – we don’t need that.”

The werewolf lifts an eyebrow, staring Stiles down. Derek simply fails to understand how this kid’s brain works.

“I don’t dislike you.”

Stiles’ eyes bug out and he sputters, looking like he might drive himself into a panic attack.

“That wasn’t what the pep talk was about!” he bumps into the doorframe before running away, making Derek chuckle. The motion hurts, but Derek doesn’t regret the teasing. At least Stiles isn’t asking him questions any more. Questions Derek isn’t sure he’d be able to give a good answer to. As much as he talks about trusting the instinct, all of the kids surrounding him, human or not, are too reliant on their human side to understand what it’s like. What it means to just know where to go, without asking yourself why. Future Stiles did a number on him to confuse his senses so much. It was his fault that Derek subconsciously chose Stiles to go to at his worst. It wasn’t important. Didn’t really mean anything, just that Derek needed a break. Which he wasn’t getting.

The soap burns the cuts, but it’s nothing compared to the ache from the bones that still haven’t fully healed. The water is scalding and if Derek could let go of the thoughts in his head it’d be almost cleansing. Instead, he thinks about his pack and about the place Erica and Boyd could be held captive, but he comes up empty, the way he did the other dozen times he tried to figure it out. He thinks about his future pack, about how in that other universe he managed to keep it together and maintain an order, keep everyone alive; he thinks about the two Stileses, trying to fathom how in hell’s name the other him let this nosy teenager get under his skin and become such an important part of his life.

Naturally, the moment Derek is out of the shower, naked and wet, Stiles barges in with the towel he forgot to leave for the man. There is a yelp and the next moment Derek is showered in clothes and towels that Stiles brought for him. This probably shouldn’t make him smile, but Derek still does, smirking as he picks through shirts and pants too tight and an obscene amount of plaid. But it’s not like he has room to complain so he dresses in something less obnoxious and, to avoid the unnecessary attacks or complaints, because Stiles is unpredictable, he leaves.

As he’s slipping out the back door, Derek decides to do something even more stupid than everything he did in the past twenty four hours.

***

“You must be hungry?” Derek is holding up two coffees and a brown Burger King bag. Stilinski snorts, but greets Derek halfway, plucking the coffee from his fingers.

“This didn’t seem to bother you too much before.” Derek’s face must show that he actually just asked himself how the hell does Stilinski get food. Though Derek’s pretty sure his expression stays in check, but maybe he’s got tells Stilinski knows from the future. “Don’t worry, I eat. Regularly. And I’m not even stealing anything. So, is it another attempt to manipulate me? Because then you should’ve gotten curly fries; or is it an apology?”

Derek adapts a pinched expression, his lips thinning into a line, and he walks past Stilinski further into the house.

“No offense, but… it’s weird, but I feel like I don’t know you.”

Derek can only lift an eyebrow to that.

“See? This, here. Now you’re Derek. You can’t apologize and you use your eyebrows to communicate.” Derek’s eyebrows automatically furrow before he can stop himself and it makes Stilinski smile. Smiling Stilinski is a lot better than the one with the panic attack. “And yesterday? You – weren’t him. I know it’s you but it’s like you’re an _entirely_ different person. I mean, yeah, you’re not _my_ Derek, you’re his- Your own, yeah, yeah.” He rolls his eyes at Derek’s expression. “But I can’t say that I know you anymore. I have no idea what’s going on in your head and you’re definitely not the guy that told me about his past. And to be honest – I can’t even imagine this you doing it.”

“I came to ask-”

“I’m not going to help.” Huffs the man, probably tired of repeating himself. “If everything starts going to shit – of course. I’ll help the pack. But until-”

“That’s not what I wanted to ask.”

Stilinski looks surprised for a second, before his face becomes a blank, like when he was talking about not really knowing Derek. When the question doesn’t come, future Stiles lifts his eyebrows and Derek is going to say it. He’s just going to take a deep breath and ask. Outright. Nothing wrong with him wanting to know.

“How did I allow you to be with me?”

He gets laughter in reply.

“Hand me the burger.” Derek frowns, but hands over the bag. Stilinski doesn’t talk until he gets the first bite. At least the table manners are the same, thinks Derek, watching him eat messily. Even time and evil parallel dimensions can’t take that away from Stiles.

“You didn’t allow anyone anything. We both wanted it and made it happen. We just grew closer and closer, like an irresistible force. Like it couldn’t have happened any other way. Even Scott agreed that it was inevitable.”

Derek just gets deeper in thought, which means his eyebrows get even more furrowed, as he picks and prods at Stilinski’s words inside his head.

“But like I said, that was us. There and then. Maybe you two aren’t supposed to end up together. It’s not like all this mate crap is real. And anyway, not sure it would work for different worlds. Which I really would love to have more variables to be sure- ”

Stilinski goes on about parallel universes and Derek tunes him out, mind unable to picture how that other him decided to trust Stiles enough to give him everything he was. Because werewolves may not mate for life, but that’s how Derek functioned. There were one night stands, of course there were. But when Derek decided to give in and try and be in a relationship – he gave it his all and yeah, maybe that was naive, but Derek always wanted a family, a love of his life, like his Mom and Dad had, a damn white picket fence and kids. And apparently it worked well enough for that other Derek. Before the fire, of course.

The question leaves his lips before he can stop himself: “But you love him? Still?”

Stilisnki stops his rambling and looks at Derek as if he just asked him why are softballs hard or something equally as stupid.

“Stilinskis never get into anything half-assed. Also, I am a not-so-closet romantic, but that’s a secret. Shh.” Stiles purses his lips and places his pointer finger in front of them, as if he’s five.

Derek’s tired all of a sudden and his head is buzzing and he doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t even know why he had to ask. So he gets up in one fluid motion, heading for the exit.

“Derek?” he doesn’t want to turn around but still does it. “When you decide to talk about… Kate… it’ll become better. He won’t judge you. He’s me, I know.”

Derek thinks he might crack his jaw, so hard he’s clenching his teeth.

“Today you’re training alone.”

As he’s running away, Derek hears a sad “Thought so.”

 

**Stiles**

“Oh. My. God! Again?! You’re injured… or not?” Stiles stares at Derek. At Derek sprawled on his bed, looking comfortable and like he’s not planning to move his ass. The boy takes a couple of steps closer but the werewolf in his bed really doesn’t seem to be in danger of his guts falling out any time soon so Stiles marches all the way to the bed.

“I threw your stuff away. It was all torn up anyway. And you ruined my sheets, they were all caked in blood. So, really, there’s nothing for you here. If you want to write a check – fine. But otherwise –” Stiles sweeps his hands in a grand gesture, making it clear to Derek where he should be heading and that’s out the window.

Instead, though, Derek groans and turns to his side, away from Stiles, covering up with the quilt.

“Derek. What the hell, Derek? I’ll call Dad! Come on, that’s my bed! Where am I supposed to sleep? Are you feeling bad? I’m not Deaton, you know? I don’t think I can help you…”

Stiles trails off, but there’s still no answer. He spares a moment to wonder if poking Derek or trying to push him off the bed would work, but decides against it.

“You do understand that I won’t shut up until I hear an answer. You think you’ll be able to get _any_ sleep? Well, think again, buddy, because-”

“The bed is soft.” Says the voice from under the covers. Like it explains everything. Stiles tries to remember if he, maybe, missed something but nope. No. This just doesn’t make sense. Even if there was an explanation at some point.

“ _My_ bed is soft. My. Mine. Not yours.”

“Just- you never sleep anyway.”

“Well, I planned on it today!” Stiles gapes at the cocoon on his bed. Where the hell is all of this coming from?

“Too bad.”

Apparently pulling the blanket off is a wrong move because Derek turns back, all glowy eyes and fangs, actually, for real, growling. Stiles isn’t scared. Probably. Derek won’t harm him. Also probably. He flails away for good measure, taking more than a few steps back.

“Hey! Are you insane?! What the hell was this?.. Are you… poisoned, maybe? And you can’t control your shift? Because otherwise this would be pretty shitty of you!” Derek grunts a ‘yes’ and turns away again.

“This actually sounds a lot like you being a dick, really-” Derek growls again, reverting Stiles to angrily chew pens and pencils over some research, pull out his phone one time too many, contemplating sending a text to Scott and telling him to make Derek leave. Stiles got used to his manliness being nothing but a myth, surrounded by werewolves and their strength and unresistable sexiness. Stiles wasn’t embarrassed about asking Scott to take care of it for him. Only he didn’t ask. Derek _was_ being a dick. But what if he really was weak and there were some residual effects? Actually, then Stiles _should_ be calling someone, Deaton probably; but anyway, what if Derek was too weak to show up in front of his pack in such a state? And felt safer with the useless human or something. Although he could’ve chosen a friendlier way to do it. A thank you would’ve been nice. One the other hand Stiles is still pretty freaked about future Derek and Stiles and their relationship so, maybe, Derek is too. And thinks that acting friendly with Stiles might lead him to conclusions. And Stiles’ seen his dick, that’s a thing too. Last time, when he was bringing Derek clothes, not dream!Derek’s dick because he’s seen _plenty_ of that. So maybe Derek needs to stay, but he’s just feeling… awkward? And lashing out is the only way he can cope?

It’s been three hours and Stiles’ research long turned into Stiles browsing the internet and refreshing tumblr. And as fun as it sounds, he wants to sleep. Stiles looks over his shoulder at Derek’s sleeping form and gets up with a sigh. His limbs are sore from sitting in the chair for too long and he takes his time, stretching and wiggling the pins and needles out of them. Stiles grumbles softly under his breath, laying out a sleeping bag on the floor for himself. He’s out like a light as soon as he lays down.

***

_Stiles’ wrists are pinned above his head and Derek is leaning over him, sweaty and gorgeous, his hair sticking at odd angles from when Stiles gripped at it while Derek did sinful things to Stiles’ dick with his mouth. Speaking about that mouth, Derek’s lips are all wet and puffy, parted as he lets out little huffs of breath, brow creased and eyes screwed shut._

_Stiles makes an embarrassing keening noise, flexing his hands, unable to reach out while Derek holds him down. Stiles wants to touch him, wants to run his hands reverently up and down Derek’s body, wants to caress his face and smooth his brow with a thumb, but Derek’s hold isn’t wavering. He opens his eyes, looking down at Stiles, the corners of his mouth lifting until it’s a real smile and he leans down to kiss Stiles on the mouth, sweet and slow._

_Only it makes him shift in Stiles’ lap and Derek moans into the kiss, Stiles’ dick grazing his prostate. His grip on Stiles’ wrists goes slack and Stiles takes the opportunity to weave the fingers of his left hand through Derek’s hair, keeping him close, sucking on his tongue as he fucks up into the welcoming heat of Derek’s ass._

_Derek clutches at his right hand, fingers slipping from Stiles’ wrist to tangle with his fingers and Stiles props his heels against the mattress for leverage and starts fucking into him with measured deliberate strokes, swallowing the delicious sounds Derek makes with his mouth._

_Derek rocks his hips, meeting Stiles’ thrusts, clenching around his dick and making Stiles see stars, but he can’t come, not yet, not before Derek does. The hand in Derek’s hair moves down his back, stroking up and down a few times before snaking between their bodies, Derek sitting straight again without Stiles holding him down. Derek rests his hands on Stiles’ chest, digging his fingernails in and almost making Stiles come again._

_“You’re so beautiful-”  
Derek’s scoff turns into a moan and Stiles grins, biting his lip and speeding up, wanting to hear Derek moan and curse and completely lose control-_

Stiles wakes up panting, sweaty and rock hard. He’s part mortified, part turned on and part of his brain is still trying to catch up to the fact that it was him who was fucking Derek, not the other way around. He almost reaches for his dick when he remembers that he’s on the floor and the reason for it. Stiles turns to the bed so fast it gives him whiplash. But it’s empty. He breathes a sigh of relief before thinking of what made Derek leave. And, of course, it could be just Derek being Derek and leaving without saying goodbye, whenever he felt like it. But there’s also Stiles’ wet not!dream and the noises he probably, most likely, made, and the whole… smell… of his hard-on Derek could’ve smelled.

He really should freak out about it more, but he leaves it for later. For after he takes care of his dream-induced situation. The boy tries not, honestly tries, not to think of Derek while touching his dick, about Derek riding him, moaning his name, voice breaking into incoherent sobs, about Derek’s come striping Stiles’ chest and Stiles coming seconds after… Yeah, that, he tries not to think of _that_.

If anything, he decides later, standing in the shower and trying not to feel embarrassed, it’s Derek’s fault for coming over and staying. And listening to Stiles and his sex noises. And for being so hot in the stupid dream future, and for moaning Stiles’ name like a prayer- Stiles’ dick twitches at the memory and he instantly makes himself think of something else instead, anything else! Harris, Harris naked, in women’s lingerie. That does the trick and Stiles sighs in relief, actually feeling kind of disgusted.

Of course, if he has to feel guilt, it’s guilt-con 2000 and next thing – he’s embarrassed about seeing, and feeling, something so intimate and private from the life of two people whom Stiles and Derek won’t really become in _their_ future. Not this Derek, and not him.

Oh great, and now there’s regret. Fan-fucking-tastic!

Sitting at home will just make him think of… things, so Stiles decides to do something. Like, maybe, visit his Dad at the station. And try and talk to Deaton about Derek. Without letting him know that Derek’s been clawed almost to death just recently and that he’s staying at Stiles’.

Being cryptic with Deaton doesn’t work out because he sees through Stiles’ bullshit in a second. But at least he reassures him that the alphas wouldn’t use wolfsbane on Derek because it’d harm them too. And they weren’t planning on killing him. Could’ve fooled Stiles. Deaton does say that if Derek keeps the weird behavior up, that he should meet him and check for himself. But that otherwise he’s fine. Well, sweet. Now Stiles just needs to figure out what part of the weird is Derek and what part is probable poisoning.

His Dad is very surprised to see him, and Stiles isn’t amused to see his Dad stuffing his mouth full of greasy unhealthy burger. He pushes all of it into his mouth as soon as Stiles tries to grab at the bit that’s left. It goes as usual after that: Dad hiding cases and Stiles asking about the new deputies in training, subtly (not really) scanning the walls for the current cases his Dad was on. The veggie burger is left untouched, but Stiles takes it home for his Dad to eat later.

Stiles spends some time downstairs, sprawled out on the couch, halfheartedly watching an action movie while texting with Scott. Stiles makes sure his Dad eats the burger he got him, once he comes home, and sneaks some salty snacks upstairs, away from his father's eyes. Because as much as he insists on his Dad’s healthy lifestyle, Stiles is too young to rid himself of the tiny joys in life that are junk food.

He’s sprawled on the bed, pajamas and all, going through some werewolf site that piqued his interest some time ago, because it had some information that wasn’t actual bullshit, and Stiles needed to know if the user sharing it was a real werewolf or just really nerdy and into gore. Stiles doesn’t even flinch, no, ok, he does, when Derek enters his room via window and frowns at the boy like he kicked his puppy.

Stiles smirks up at him, snuggling into the covers to prove his point and Derek scowls. So far Stiles thinks their confrontation is going pretty well.

Only then Derek shrugs and starts undressing, throwing his jacket on the floor. Thankfully, the impromptu striptease doesn’t get further than that, but then Derek’s shoving him aside, laying on his side, facing away from Stiles, on top of the covers, and Stiles can’t even yell at him, because his Father is at home. His Father is at home and Derek just went and crawled into his bed! What the hell?!

“Derek. Derek!” Stiles hisses angrily. He pushes with all his strength, but only ends up sliding on his bed until his back hits the wall. Derek, predictably, hasn’t moved an inch. Stiles will deny to his dying day that the next ‘Derek’ sounded a lot like a whine.

“Just- just… why?” he’s not admitting defeat and he’s not leaving his bed but this is just unfair. “Don’t you have a bed in your loft? Don’t you have a loft?”

“No.” Stiles stills at Derek’s grunt. He suspected that Isaac was a liar, but- did he seriously lie about Derek owning a new place?

“No – as in you don’t have a bed? Or no – as in you don’t own a loft?”

“Yes.”

Stiles lets out air through his nose, pursing his lips and flopping onto his pillow.

“You’re not going to leave, are you?”

“No.” At least he sounds unsure. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“You know how this works: my bed – my rules. No snuggling, no groping, no to stealing my blanket, no to you facing my way and there’s an invisible line that you can pretend is made of mountain ash because you’re never going to cross it if you want to stay here.”

Derek grunts. He doesn’t sound very happy, but then again Stiles doesn’t really have the range of his grunts graphed and analyzed. Maybe he should…

“And I am doing this out of the kindness of my heart and I expect this to be a very rare occurrence. You need to find a place to live, dude. I’m all for helping the-”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“ _And_ there will be none of that. Oh, and while you’re not allowed, I can, and won’t be decapitated for the following: rolling around, talking in my sleep, drooling, maybe kicking you if I’m having a vivid dream, also there might be sleepy sexy times that I am not responsible for, say thank you to my future self, and in that case you need to leave…”

***

Sleep doesn’t come for a long time and after what probably was no longer than an hour, but felt like a billion years of staring into the ceiling or pretending that closing his eyes was going to do the trick, Stiles decides he can’t do it. Just can’t. And he needs to get up and out of his bed because that’s not how he imagined sleeping with someone, anyone, in it would go anyway. Oh great, and now he was back to remembering future Stiles and Derek going at it. Yeah, he really needed to get out.

Getting off the bed becomes a harder task once he attempts to crawl over Derek without touching the werewolf a few times. Stiles is halfway off the bed, shimmying down to the foot of the bed, cringing at all the rustling and creaking, his bed never seemed to creak as much as it does now; when there’s a hand grabbing him by the upper arm and hoisting him back up.

“Go to sleep, Stiles.”

Later Stiles thinks that he might’ve fallen asleep just out of spite. As stupid as that sounded.

***

Stiles hasn’t slept long enough to dream and it’s still dark outside, so he pulls the blanket over his head- he tries to pull the blanket over his head but… there’s a werewolf clutching at it, holding it like his life depends on it. Stiles is already reaching out to shake him awake and make him leave, because not only Derek hogged the covers, he also turned to Stiles and is so far over the ‘mountain ash’ line, that Stiles a bit further – and Stiles will have nowhere to go; but then he notices the sweat, covering Derek’s forehead, the pained expression, the fangs biting into his own lips and the claws, shredding the blanket. Derek’s panting lightly, the noises coming out sounding a lot like sobs.

If the cold hadn’t woken Stiles up fully, this does. He sits up, watching Derek, lost at what to do. The man seems afraid, hunted, the expression wrong on Derek’s features. Stiles reaches out to gently touch his shoulder, jerking his hand back just in case, but Derek doesn’t react, too deep in his nightmare. So Stiles reaches out again, shaking him by the shoulder this time, talking in a hushed tone.

“Come on, Derek, wake up. You’re alright, it’s ok, Derek-”

One moment he’s on the bed, hunched over Derek’s shaking form, and the other – he’s on the floor, his wrist gripped painfully in a clawed hand. Derek’s eyes are glowing and he looks cornered, but then he furrows his brow in confusion, looking around and, as if burned, he lets go of Stiles.

“Dude, are you-”

In a blink of an eye Stiles is alone in the room, his window open, letting in the cold night air, Derek’s jacket, forgotten, on the floor.

Derek stops dropping by after that.

Maybe that’s why Future S shows up next night.

“I need you to chant a spell for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made Stiles bisexual by default.  
> I did a really quick check on this chapter so I'll come back and maybe edit it some more but I think it's all good for now.


	3. Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a lot of time on writing (more like no time at all), but I don't want to keep you guys waiting.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Derek**

Derek… screwed up. He doesn’t know what is wrong with him. He’s… Derek lets out a frustrated growl and punches the brick wall again, making the hole grow. He’s never fixing it. And considering he might not survive this year – he can save the effort.

It’s been almost a week since he last saw Stiles. He avoided the boy after that last time where he went and had a nightmare and hurt him. It could’ve ended up with more than a sprained arm and a bruise on his wrist. But the worst part was that Derek got so comfortable and, for lack of better word, content in a matter of days – that he relaxed enough to have dreams, to fall into a deep sleep, with another person by his side.

Another punch through the wall.

Stiles didn’t try to contact him after that and that was for the best. For both of them and for Derek’s sanity. Isaac spent most of his time with Scott, and Derek… thought that maybe that wasn’t so bad. Peter was always somewhere on the outskirts of life, of the action, hiding in the shadows, and Derek didn’t mind as long as he stayed there. The alphas were quiet. Again. And that made Derek fidgety and nervous. And Stilinski… Stilinski was Derek’s beta and yet he didn’t know anything about his days, knew nothing about what he did, except for the training he had with Derek and the fact that he was sleeping at the old Hale house. So Derek was planning on righting at least some of these messed up pack dynamics.

He hears Stilinski coming from the parking lot and spends a moment or two assessing the loft, the empty space, the broken wall, the mess on the floor he just made. Nothing he can do about it to make it look better. And he really doesn’t feel like showing off. If anything, he’ll just prove to Stilinski how much more different he is from _his_ Derek.

Before the elevator’s all the way up, Derek tells Stilinski to come right in, waiting for the door to slide.

“I was going to order takeout. The pizza at this place nearby is really good-” Stilinski lets out an amused laugh.

“God! Derek. I told you – I’m not starving. I eat.” Derek huffs in reply.

“I’m your alpha. And I’m asking if I should order two or three pizzas.”

Stilinski answers with a ‘three’ and goes to plop on the couch. He patiently waits for Derek to call the Pizza place and order and then, with a long suffering sigh, asks:

“What’s this about?”

Derek braces himself and walks up to Stilinski, sitting down on the opposite side of the couch.

“I don’t care if you’re from the future. Right now – you’re here. And you’re my beta. And I will take care of you.” Derek would cringe at his own words, but that would make them sound even more ridiculous, so he purses his lips and stares in front of himself. Waiting for a reaction.

“Well shit. Now I want to kiss you.”

Derek whips his head and Stilinski starts laughing at his expression, as if he was expecting it.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” The man turns to look down, hands playing with a tear in the denim of his jeans. “I’m leaving this Friday.” Before Derek has a chance to ask, Stilinski clarifies: “I’m going back. If the spell works.”

He’ll leave. And Derek will be one beta down. And he won’t have any help, no hints of what to do, how to save his pack. Maybe he can do something to- to make him talk? To make him stay for a bit more?-

“Jennifer Blake. She’ll be a teacher at the school this year.” Derek doesn’t move, as if Stilinski were a wild animal and he’d spook him and prevent him from talking. “I’m… pretty sure you’ll feel an irresistible attraction to the woman soon. Like- falling in love at first sight, that kind of thing. Well, don’t trust that feeling. Run away even if everything inside you tells you it’s the wrong thing to do.”

Cautiously, Derek nods. He doesn’t think he’ll ever go for a hunch and follow a ‘love at first sight’ feeling ever again in his life, but Stilinski was volunteering information, and he wasn’t going to interrupt.

“Deucalion is the leader of the alphas and he’ll try and make you kill your pack. But, really, he wants Scott.” Derek keeps silent, biting his tongue on the questions, bubbling up.

“Gerard will come back at the most inconvenient moment and I need you to trust me. The other me. I was right in my timeline – I’m sure this me will come to the same conclusion – you need to trust him and let him do what he thinks is the best choice. Otherwise, taking down Gerard will take months.

“I…” Stilinski sighs. “I’ll show you where the Nemeton is and I need you to make sure everyone knows where it is. Not Peter. Peter isn’t at his best right now.

“The harpies were a pretty bad time for us, but if you start getting ready around next year, and if the stuff with Jennifer doesn’t happen – then we’ll be in better shape. Actually, if Jennifer doesn’t happen – most of the things won’t happen. So basically – keep your hormones in check, Derek.”

“Is she a- siren? Does she use a potion on m-”

“I thought that, when you broke up with me to be with her. The reality was much more gruesome and traumatizing. Love spells come later and, surprisingly, are cast on me and not you. But that wasn’t too interesting. I can’t remember most of it anyway.”

The smell of pizza makes them both turn their heads to the door and Derek is there when the delivery guy comes up. Derek pays and fetches two sodas on his way back to the couch. He sits closer this time.

They eat mostly in silence with Stilinski remembering facts and bits only when his mouth was stuffed full of food.

“…and I know that it just sounds like you should choose me and never ever try and be with anybody else. But this _will_ save us from a lot of trouble. And, you know, if this one thing doesn’t happen – I’m rewriting all of our futures. This reality is… wrong. In a lot of ways. So I don’t think that it’s a bad thing if I make it a bit less painful.”

“Do you think there’s one where I don’t kill my family?” It’s out before Derek can stop himself. It’s easier talking to Stilinski, now that he knows for a fact that the werewolf is leaving soon.

“You don’t do it. In any universe. It was Kate who did it.” Stilinski looks mad, saying this, meeting Derek’s eyes and not turning away, maybe for the first time since they started talking. His expression becomes gentle when he utters his next words: “But yeah. Even if there isn’t – I like to think there is one. Can my Mom not die in that one too?”

Derek nods one time too many. Maybe he can understand why that other him decided he could trust Stiles.

Stilinski doesn’t stay the night, even after Derek suggests he could. Instead, he makes a lewd comment, making Derek regret the offer.

At night Derek lays in bed, thinking of Stiles and Stilinski instead of the warnings Stilinski gave him about the future. He wonders if the moment he actually allows himself to be happy, would be the moment his life ends. That, maybe, he’s just not cut out to be happy.

The next morning the forest smells like blood.

Stilinski finds him himself, before Derek even figures out whom to blame. He’s quiet and pale.

“I fucked up.” He’s quiet and if Derek didn’t have werewolf hearing, he would’ve missed it. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

They’re walking deeper and deeper into the woods, and the stench of blood becomes stronger the closer they get to where Stilinski is taking him. Derek doesn’t understand. It wasn’t a full moon, it wasn’t any kind of lunar phase yesterday to make Stilinski lose control. Could it be the alphas? Could’ve they forced him to…

They walk into a clearing with an enormous stump in the middle and three bodies lying there, smelling like blood and death. Derek’s head hurts when he tries to remember where he’s seen the tree stump before. But that’s not so important.

“Did you-” The bodies are lying in blood but they don’t look slashed up or bitten, not as far as Derek can tell.

“No! No, It wasn’t… I didn’t kill them. But I might as well have.” Stilinski ends in a whisper. Derek turns to him confused. “It’s… the Nemeton. When you… Paige… And your Mother took your memories? That’s where it happened.”

The young were must notice Derek paling, but he looks as if it pains him even more, tears welling in his eyes.

“I thought I’d be able to stop the Darach. I- I never wanted it to repeat. But then I got turned. And the spell I cast was incomplete. And it must’ve- It must’ve provoked her. Derek, god, this is not how it was supposed to happen-”

He’s wolfing out now, fur sprouting from his face, features shifting, eyes a bright gold, proving that he didn’t kill anyone. Or that these people weren’t innocent at the least. Derek hesitates, but he steps closer, a low growl sounding more like a purr, as he flashes his eyes red and Stilinski is human again. The man rubs at his face with two hands and lets out a tired huff, regaining control.

“We need to call my Dad. Let him know about this.” Derek isn’t too fond of the idea of using his phone, but Stiles promises him, he knows the time for the call not to get traced and this’ll be an anonymous tip. True to his words, Stilinski delivers information fast and precise, hanging up as fast as possible.

“I guess we need to talk some more about the future.”

***

When Derek decides not to let anyone in on the information, not yet at least, Stilinski doesn’t argue, just follows him in silence until they’re in the loft and Stilinski slumps to the floor beside the door.

Derek helps him up to the couch, the man hanging his head, defeated.

“Ok, I- My memories are rusty, alright? This was a stressful time, I didn’t know anything, didn’t understand anything until the last possible moment. And then Dad was-” his voice wavers. “In danger. And that’s the main thought. Panic. And then it all became worse and I just- And you were gone and we thought you were dead but you were with her-”

“Stiles,” Derek is sitting on the table, facing Stiles, and he places a hand on his beta’s knee. “I won’t let it happen. Just tell me what you remember.”

***

There are two more deaths before Friday. And early evening of Thursday Isaac comes over, startling at seeing Stilinski, and reminds Derek that the killer, and the alpha pack, and sending Stilinski back to his timeline when they really can’t have that now, wasn’t all of his troubles.

Apparently, Stiles decided to perform some spell. On Friday. Behind the school. Derek almost forgot about Stiles and snatching him from the alphas that time, from behind the bleachers on the lacrosse field. This was going to bite them in the ass, he was sure.

Isaac says that Stiles didn’t want to go alone at night, not with the whole serial killings of a mysterious nature, and asked Scott to come along. So, obviously, Scott told Isaac. And Isaac, not trusting the whole thing, came to Derek.

So come Friday night, the forest behind the school had all of the dysfunctional pack present. Even Peter was there, how he got the information was a mystery to Derek.

The moon is full today, peaking from the clouds every now and then, and Derek wouldn’t have Stilinski here if he had a choice, but his spell could only be performed on a full moon and he didn’t want to stay longer than he already had. Stilinski’s eyes are flashing on and off – like Christmas lights. Derek just hopes that his ritual is a quick thing and he doesn’t wolf out right then and there. He prays the information Stilinski gave him would do some good and help them.

“I don’t like this. That’s where I need to perform the second part of the ritual to go back. I thought I could smell herbs that couldn’t possibly grow together. This is not good.”

The increasing noise and ruckus signals Stiles and Scott coming closer. Figures, the both of them aren’t too happy seeing the Hale pack. Stiles actually stops in his tracks and drags Scott aside to whisper angrily in his ear, as if oblivious to the fact that everyone present could, and was, listening in.

Stilinski breaks rank and stalks to the two boys, yanking Stiles by the upper arm.

“What the hell did you do?!”

“The fuck?” Stiles tries to yank his hand away, but Stilinski’s claws are out and Scott is growling at him now. “If you actually spared a second on telling me what is it you wanted – I’d be happy to tell you that _this_ ,” Stiles gestures around, “Is my spot!”

“What spell are you using?!”

“Let go!”

Derek growls in anger as the two Stileses keep shouting at each other, their voices rising over the howling wind, and- wait. When did it become so noisy? The wind is getting stronger, bending the smaller trees and breaking off branches, and Derek is just- so- angry-

He feels the fangs protruding and the claws lengthening even before he hears the howling and the growls, coming closer, surrounding them, a sick synch with the creaking trees and the shouting. Derek feels the wolf taking over, falling to the forest floor, the muscles shifting beneath his skin, the skin peeling from his hands and face, humanity stripped from his features and being. The wolf howls for his pack, feeling them around him, behind him, backing him up. Everything becomes clear in that moment. He feels… _free. For the first time in a long, long time. He wants to run, he wants to hunt, to taste flesh, to rip into the soft tender meat, to clamp his jaws over that fast pulse-_

_The unclaimed human. The one who smells like he should be his. Who, for some reason, isn’t. He needs to make him his. There’s a beta that doesn’t belong to him too, and the wolf roars, willing it to submit before the other alphas are there to rip the unattached beta and human to shreds, or worse, to take them as their own._

_But the beta doesn’t submit, crouching in front of the human. So be it, the wolf can’t waste time. He lunges forward, clamping his jaws on the beta’s arm and throwing him aside, clearing the path to the human. The wolf lowers his head as he gets close, the human’s heart hammering inside his ribcage, the smell of sweat heavy in the air. But he doesn’t need to be afraid. Just one bite and he’ll be safe._

_Before the wolf can get any closer, there’s another one jumping out of the woods, going for_ his _. And before he can even react there’s another one – in human form, but it’s most definitely a wolf, an alpha, lunges after it, pulling that other wolf by its tail. The wolf snaps at the human-alpha, but it won’t let go and they charge each other, teeth and claws, the human-alpha ripping the wolf to shreds, but not before the wolf gets a good chunk of meat from the alpha’s neck._

_The smell of blood is intoxicating, somewhere close, in the bushes, there’s more of it, behind him, all around him. There are sounds of battle, stomachs and throats getting ripped open, of claws slashing at flesh… The wolf roars, howling for the moon, free from the veil of clouds. The pull, of the Moon, of the Blood, almost makes him forget about the human, but for some reason his scent is just as intoxicating. The human is running away, from the mass of alphas and betas, fighting till the death, commanded by a force stronger than their own will, but the human can’t run as fast as the wolf. He charges, jumping over a bloody mess that’s still struggling to get up. The wolf doesn’t waste time on it even as the dying alpha swipes at him from the ground._

_What stops him are two betas. One – his own, smelling too much like the unclaimed human, and one – the unclaimed beta that tried to defy him before. The wolf roars, commanding him to clear the path, but they stand their ground. It goes against all instinct to do it, but the call of the blood is stronger and the wolf bites his own beta’s neck, hard enough to keep him from recovering for a long time, leaving him bleeding out on the field. The other beta is strong, and persistent, trying to stop him the moment he understands that the wolf goes for the kill, but he’s too late to stop the wolf from clamping his jaws around the beta’s neck, and he’s too weak to pull him away._

_The wolf turns to the beta, snarling at it, and the beta roars in answer, one lone voice joining it, distracting from the massacre that’s going on just a few feet away behind their backs. The wolf feels power pulsing inside of him, powered by the moon and gets ready to pounce the stupid beta, all senses on alert, all muscles tense…_

“Derek! No! No, stop!”

Derek’s front paws stumble, tangling a bit, the anger turning off like a switch, taking all the strength with it. He thinks he saw everything happen, in a fog, the blood, the ripping flesh, the burning eyes of the other wolves, but it felt unreal, wrong, forced. And now the feeling just settles in his new body, inadequately and clumsily, unable to accustom to the change. There are voices, and he can still hear snarls and sounds of battle, but he’s getting weaker, all the energy draining from him as he falls to the ground. There are hands on him and he’s not sure if they’re friendly or are going to claw him to death in the next second, but he really can’t make himself care, shutting his eyes against the too bright shine of the moon.

He drifts in and out of consciousness, hating that the feeling is too familiar to him by now, too accustomed to always feeling weak and bone-crushingly tired. Or his bones are really shifting, breaking and regrouping to fit his human appearance. He thinks he’s in a car, all shaky because of the bumpy road, making him nauseous. There’re two other bodies with him in the back, stinking of blood so much it still makes his wolf want to bare its’ teeth and lick it all up, but just makes his human side want to puke. At least most of it isn’t his…

… the vet’s. He’s at the vet’s. Derek knows from the artificial light and smells. It could be a hospital, but there is a distinct smell of animals and he knows nobody in their right mind would take him to an ordinary hospital.

“Your blood-” it’s gurgled, half whispered.

“What’s- I’m not giving you my blood!” loud, too loud.

“I think he meant the spell. Did you use your blood in the ritual? Blood magic is a strong-”

“Oh my god! No! Why would I- I didn’t use any blood!” the voices all mix and sound alike and if it wasn’t for the yelling, Derek would’ve been happy to get back to unconsciousness…

…he wakes up at the clinic, bones aching from the inside, blisters and scratches tingling unpleasantly, but at least it’s quiet. Derek lays on the big metal table, waiting for his wounds to start stitching themselves up, attuning to his surroundings, feeling around for everyone at the clinic. But it’s quiet. Too quiet. He still must be dreaming, not fully conscious. The man closes his eyes and wills himself to sleep, but the aches in his body make him twitch and shuffle on the uncomfortable cold table.

After a while he just can’t take it anymore and gets up, a wave of nausea slamming into him and making him puke bile onto the shiny floor. This room makes his eyes hurt and his head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton.

He hears a door open a few rooms away and tries to listen closer to the person moving around, only the next sound comes right from behind him and Derek jumps up, whirling as he does so, regretting the movement instantly, having to grab for the wall not to fall.

“Derek. Derek, it’s alright. You might be feeling a little weak-” it’s Deaton. And Derek knows him too well not to listen in on his heart, but he doesn’t hear a thing. “This was your first full transformation into your alpha form and it took a lot out of you…” he can’t hear. He can’t hear anything. The only thing he hears is the doctor’s voice, his own breathing and his own heartbeat drumming in his ears, feels it behind his rib cage. “It’s not an uncommon side-effect and it won’t last longer than a week-” and now he can’t even hear that, the sound of his own heart getting louder and louder, his own breathing stopping, it seems, just so his heart could beat against his eardrums. He can’t lift his head, he’s not feeling his body and is aware of it too much at the same time, his heart beating is painful and the air resists to get in even as Derek attempts to gasp and breathe-

He’s on the floor, and the doctor’s hand is on his heart, the other one holding onto Derek’s hand. The touch is foreign and unwelcome but he can’t get away, mumbling something after the vet, “In – out”, Derek breathes in with the words, in-out, easier as time passes, easier as his lungs begin to get more air and his head clears from the buzz. But the usual noises still don’t return and this almost sends him into another panic attack. Derek concentrates on the wet spot of his own vomit right beside him, on not moving too close to it, on the light shining off of the yellowish water.

“I need you to tell me again.” He says when he’s sure he can take the information without feeling like dying again, when the doctor’s hands long left him.

***

It is a lot to take in. Deaton starts from the very beginning, riling Derek up. It’s all necessary information but he’s got his priorities: like not being able to shift. He tested it almost instantly after the panic attack and almost got another one from the realization that not only his senses were compromised, but his powers were gone. Nothing. He didn’t feel it in himself any more. He didn’t feel the soft current of energy buzzing under his skin, making him warmer and sometimes making him feel things more intense, but it was his, always has been. And adding up the weakness he felt now – Derek felt like he lost a limb or two, feeling a fantom longing, if that was even a thing, for a part of him he didn’t seem to have any more.

Deaton started with handing Derek a bottle of water and saying that everyone was safe, Derek remembering flashes of blood and hurting someone of his own. But Deaton reassured him that by now Stilinski was safe and in a much better condition than when he was brought in with Derek.

It turned into a talk about blood magic and how Stiles remembered getting some blood close to the place where he used his spell. Derek remembered it, too, was there for it… Originally it was supposed to make the alphas bloodthirsty and maim each other. The blood in the spell made all of the alphas chase him instead, but at least some of them killed each other while trying to get to Stiles. Obviously, the boy didn’t account for Derek being there too, and Derek just wanted to slam his head hard into something, because he knew from the start that whatever Stiles was doing wasn’t going to end well and he was right.

Deaton handed Derek a sandwich, telling him that Stiles using his name made him shift back. Partly – because it was an ancient rite, secondly – because it was his spell and he would be the one to break it. The doctor talked about Peter fetching Stiles’ car and using it to drive them all out of there, and last – he talked about Derek being unconscious and powerless for two days and ended up offering Derek a fluffy towel to wrap himself in because without the wolf part of him – Derek was getting cold.

The veterinarian leaves him in another room, sitting on a couch, and goes away to greet a customer. Derek stays still, hands clenching and unclenching in an attempt to force the change, absentmindedly tugging at the towel as it keeps falling off his shoulder. If he listens close enough he can hear the old cushions creak, can hear a muffled conversation from the front of the clinic and a dog barking at the back. There are other noises, coming from outside, but they’re too blurry to pick them apart. As if they were miles and miles away. It’s like going deaf.

Derek never really thought of himself and his wolf as two separate parts, but the change and the force of the wolf’s will when the spell hit him was overpowering and all-consuming. Even scary. But not feeling it was even more terrifying. The power was never something he was afraid of, unlike the bitten young betas. He knew that the sooner he got his wolf half back, the sooner he got to feel it and take reign of it inside his body, the sooner he’d feel safe and calm. Only he wasn’t getting what he wanted. Never did.

Instead of feeling out his new powers and the full body shift, he was stuck as human as they come, feeling every bruise and scar as an annoying reminder of how human he was, feeling cold, sick, disgusting, unnatural, feeling like there was a tear right in the middle of his solar plexus, ripping in every direction the longer he stayed like this.

Derek jerks awake from a door opening and he hates that he didn’t hear it sooner, hates that if this were an enemy, he’d be completely helpless against him now. It’s the doctor. Scott, Stiles and Isaac following him. Isaac looks like Derek feels: shaggy and scared. At least there’s no pity in the other two pair of eyes.

“You really can’t..?” is what Stiles opens with and Derek growls at him, hating that he can’t flash his eyes red for better effect. “Nice to know that your sunny personality remained.” And Derek is missing his fangs even more in this moment.

“We figured out how we’re going to do it.”

“And I can admit that I am at fault here, but I still don’t see why I have to suffer the most-”

Scott levels his friend with a look and Derek squints at the both of them, hand coming up to rub at his forehead.

“What are you talking about?”

“It is not safe for you to go back to the loft, Derek.” Deaton says with his condescending tone, “It’s not safe for anybody. That’s why for now the older mister Stilinski will stay with me, Mr Lahey will live with Scott. And you…” Derek feels like his life flashes before his eyes, or at least something similar. Because in a moment his brain filters through the information that Stilinski is probably not as ok as Deaton let on, that if Isaac could be safe anywhere – it just might be by McCall’s side, and like a train, rushing at him at full speed, unavoidable and lethal the doctor finishes with: “will stay with the younger Mr Stilinski.”

Stiles pulls an unhappy face as if it could pain him more than it does Derek. As if being powerless wasn’t torture enough.

“I could stay here.” Says Derek, already knowing that the doctor has a thousand reasons to tell no to him, all in a calm voice, brooking no objections.

He ends up in the passenger seat of a ratty old jeep, grinding his teeth and still holding a towel over his shoulders.

 

**Stiles**

Know what Stiles finds out about Derek Hale after approximately two days of living with him? No, actually he finds out a lot earlier, but he gives him the benefit of the doubt because of extreme circumstances; well, Derek Hale? Is a whiny bitch. No dog jokes intended. Really. Derek bitches and bemoans his wolfy prowess and fluffy fur and shiny eyes for an hour before Stiles decides that an hour is polite enough and plugs in his headphones, listening to music louder than he usually would and still feeling Derek’s gloom over the noise.

It’s not like Derek is loud. Quite the opposite. And his personality didn’t just do a 180 turn and he didn’t begin to talk like a normal person, god forbid. But he’s moping and his bad mood has a presence of its own that fills up the room in an instant, as if Derek were a dementor. Derek behaves like some kind of emo teenager mad at the whole world and oh so not understood by anyone. And, ok, he never was a human and apparently, compared to being a werewolf, being human sucks ass. Stiles _is_ sorry for Derek. He is. He’s just a lot more frustrated with him right now than anything.

Derek turns out to be a very clumsy human, stubbing his toe on the couch’s leg, spraining a wrist, dropping stuff, too used to his body’s reflexes and healing to be self-preservant. He’s kind of like a big kid. With a week-old stubble that Stiles should probably just call a beard now, and rippling muscles. Stiles prohibits Derek from shaving just in case he manages to slit his throat in the process, or something as equally ridiculous. He actually does cut himself, on the finger, while making a sandwich, but that’s another story filled with confusion and staring at a bleeding finger until Stiles noticed and disinfected the cut, covering it with a plain band-aid. Then it turned into staring at the band-aid, Derek forgetting about his food and poking every place he managed to hurt by then, pulling faces and then poking again.

Stiles’ Dad was conveniently at work most of the time, a killing spree hitting Beacon Hills hard, with three deaths in one night, and then two more, separate this time, but the way the killings were executed, showed a pattern. It seemed like the killer was in a rush and didn’t have the luxury of time, so the police force was on alert 24/7, Stiles’ Dad in the center of it all, hoping for a slip-up from the murderer.

Well, at least that meant that Derek could be relatively safe, trapped in a house where every exit was secured with one or two ash branches, and/or mountain ash, depending on location. Scott and Stiles would write to each other and skype to check if they were still ok and not under attack. Despite Stiles’ and Derek’s protests, Scott and his new bedmate Isaac were getting out. They let them know that the alphas hid their scents from everywhere and were nowhere to be found. The spell killed three of them, which Stiles was confused with at first, but then Scott explained how the giant hulk of an alpha was actually two people, however that worked. The other one dead was another big guy, this one – an actual guy and not a lego transformer. This left two alphas, but considering that they were the ones to kill these two, Stiles decided that there was no way he was going to feel safe.

Future S has gone from the maps and radars too, after Derek’s maiming. Deaton was assuring everyone that he was staying at the animal clinic, but Stiles was finding it hard to believe.

And Stiles wasn’t one to idly sit on his ass and wait for things to happen, not having any say in the way they went. But with a moping Derek on his hands, who’d probably get himself killed the moment they stepped out on the streets, by accident and not by the alphas, Stiles felt like staying at home was for the best. And after having six alphas try and bite him on the ass, literally, he maybe was going to get a case of PTSD and become a hermit. He still wasn’t decided on that.

It was day three and Stiles was trying to pay his full attention to Sookie Stackhouse and her woes, he even put on a werewolf episode, just for Derek, but the werewolf in his room wasn’t paying attention, because he was too busy stretching out Stiles’ shirt and sighing at equal intervals. Stiles counted, ok?

“Alright, Derek. Here’s the plan.” Stiles even turns off the tv for this so Derek would definitely pay attention. “This might be my worst idea so far. Or the best. But we’ll just have to see.”

The young man gets up from the couch, leaving Derek alone for a moment, looking puzzled and adorably confused. Kind of. If adorable was a word to describe Derek by. Which it wasn’t. He returns with three bottles of beer, which he’ll have to somehow get back before his Father realizes they’re gone, and with his Father’s unimaginatively hidden Jack.

“If there is anything good about being human? We can get drunk. And that’s what we’re going to do.” Derek looks like he’s going to protest, but Stiles doesn’t let him: “Like I said – this might be the worst or the best idea. So if you don’t like it, because alcohol can make you a little fuzzy, I’ll take you to the bathroom and you’ll throw it all back up. But I’m expecting a very different result where you’ll finally relax and stop killing everything in a 10 mile radius with your gloom.”

“How about I break your arms and legs and see how you’ll feel?”

“Woah, woah.” Stiles sits back on the couch, registering in the back of his mind that he’s become immune to Derek’s threats. He opens up two bottles and leaves the third and the jack on the coffee table in front of himself. He hands one of the bottles to Derek and he takes it, hand lashing out. “This attitude won’t get you free drinks, dude. And it can’t be _that_ bad.”

“Yeah.” Derek agrees, taking a large swig and downing almost half the bottle in one gulp. “It’s worse.”

Derek obviously had beer before, because he drinks it easily, without cringing at the taste, and soon is reaching for the second bottle. Stiles doesn’t stop him, still not even half done with his own, more interested in watching Derek. And he looks fine, acts like his normal brooding self. Until he doesn’t.

He moves too jerky or bends down to place the empty bottle on the floor next to the first one, Stiles isn’t sure, all Stiles sees is him pause. Stiles doesn’t even try to hide his grin, waiting for Derek to realize that he’s drunk and how nice the light dizziness feels. Only Derek’s fingers grip his own thighs so tight, Stiles can see his knuckles and the tips of his fingers going white. Derek’s face is panicked instead of a content smile Stiles has after two beers.

“Wolfsbane-” Stiles doesn’t even get it at first, but Derek repeats the word, more loud, more panicked now.

“No, no, there’s none, I swear! It’s just how you’re supposed to feel.”

“Like I’m being poisoned?”

“Uh, shit, dude, no. It’s kind of how it’s supposed to work.” Stiles sets his own beer aside, scooting closer to the side of the couch so he can lean into Derek’s hunched form, curled in on himself in the chair. Stiles would be more worried, but there’s no way there’s wolfsbane in his Dad’s beers, right?

“I feel- wrong. Stiles. I can’t.”

Oh shit. Stiles doesn’t have time for hesitation or to be tentative. And he’s got a bit of a buzz going for himself too, so he sets his hands on Derek’s shoulders and pushes him up a little so he would sit straighter, basically falling to his knees in front of the man, following him, their faces level with each other.

“It’s not poison. It’s- You’re lightheaded. And you feel a bit dizzy. And you probably can’t string your thoughts together right away.” Derek nods, his eyes darting around, as if looking for an escape. “And that’s what you’re supposed to feel. It’s supposed to be good. To take off the pressure of always being in control, always having to think about everything you do.”

“I _need_ to be in control.” Derek still looks panicked, but not like he’s dying panicked any more, so that’s good. He still doesn’t look anywhere near ok, so Stiles just starts rubbing his shoulders, trying to relax him.

“No, you don’t. Not now at least. Right now – you don’t need to worry. I’ve got you.” Stiles squeezes his hands on Derek’s firm muscles and Derek just sags with the movement, sliding down in the chair, the movement bringing Stiles closer to him, fitting him between Derek’s spread legs.

Stiles watches as Derek throws his head back and rests it on the back of the chair, not making an effort to remove Stiles’ hands from his person, just breathing. Gulping in air a little less like if he was drowning, like just minutes ago. A little less panicky.

“This doesn’t feel too good.” Derek admits and Stiles grins, finally letting go and shuffling away.

“That’s because we haven’t even started.” He thinks of maybe going to fetch glasses and making it more fancy, but decides against moving and just hands the open bottle to Derek. “Here. Drink this and then we’ll talk.”

***

Derek’s migrated to the floor to sit pressed side to side with Stiles, passing the bottle back and forth, holding onto the younger boy’s hand for the past two-something hours. Tracing the tender skin of his wrist and bringing it up to his ear, nuzzling it, the beard making Stiles squirm, because it tickled. If Stiles weren’t drunk, he’d be freaking out. As of now – he understands that Derek needs it. He remembers Derek holding his own hand to his ear and he figured out soon enough that Derek is listening for a pulse. Because he’s not used to human hearing. Not used to not hear his own heartbeat. And now he’s listening to Stiles’. At least he’s not sniffing him; another thing Derek used to do on the first day, just burying his nose in Stiles’ clothes that he was wearing, and sniffing. That was fun. And by fun Stiles meant not fun at all. At. All. It was a horrible experience.

But now is cool. Now – is good. Because they’re sorta drinking bros now and Stiles’ hand feels nice in the tender but firm grip as they both get more wasted.

Derek’s pretty drunk if he’s ok with all this touching going on. But anything is better than the moping and Stiles is pretty proud of himself for coming up with this plan. His happy buzz is interrupted by a rough voice:

“How do you live like this?” Derek isn’t looking at him, staring at his own fingers instead and Stiles isn’t sure if he’s supposed to reply. “I never knew… I’ll bite you. Do you want me to give you the bite?” Now Derek whips his head up and searches Stiles’ eyes and thank god Derek’s out of his werewolf mojo right now because Stiles isn’t sure he could put it past him not to bite Stiles if he says ‘no’. Just for ‘his own good’.

“Nah, I’m used to this. Pretty happy with being human-”

“No, you don’t get it!” Derek is yanking the hand he was holding, forcing Stiles closer, and, fuck, Stiles knows that he should be afraid, even if just a bit, but his drunken state just makes him smile at Derek, patting his abs with the hand Derek isn’t holding captive. “You’re weak! Powerless! It’s degrading. You can’t be human. You don’t have to suffer. You’re better than that. Humans are disgusting. I-”

Derek takes a deep breath and Stiles tries to talk over him in this little gap, soothing tone and kind words. He forgot not everyone is a happy drunk, like him. He didn’t even think that Derek would get like this. Once he’s sober, he’ll probably just break Stiles’ neck. And for a good reason too.

Derek doesn’t hear him. Just squeezes his wrist tighter. “They all died because of me.”

And, alright, that sobers Stiles up right away.

“Derek, what do you-” Derek’s eyes flicker and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s a trick of his mind, a habit or something, but it looked like his eyes flashed red for a second there. Derek’s grip on his wrist doesn’t seem so safe any more and he hates himself for the uptick of panic in his heartbeat but also, he’s getting worried.

“You told me to talk to you. That you’d understand. About Kate, and me. But I don’t want to. You can’t know. Because no one can know. Because how are you supposed to forgive me if you know?”

This probably shouldn’t make sense, but Stiles is sobering up quicker than if he got dunked in cold water. Future Stiles already knows everything, of course he knows. His Derek tells him everything and he wanted this Derek to trust him, this Stiles, just as much. Well look where that got them!

The grip on his wrist isn’t getting any tighter, but there’s the barely there pinprick of something sharp and predictably enough, the claws are there, retracting and coming out as Derek shakes, almost imperceptibly, hunched in on himself and muttering under his nose. Who knew all it took to get Derek his werewolf powers back was getting drunk.

“I don’t have to forgive you, Derek. Because you didn’t do anything wr-”

“Yes, I did!” it comes out as a roar and the fangs are there. Great. Derek’s metabolism must not have processed the alcohol fully yet, because he’s still there, still looking scared and confused and in pain. “I fell for a pretty face and she killed my family. I slept with Kate Argent and let a hunter into my home. I murdered everyone because I couldn’t keep it in my pants.”

Derek laughs and it’s an ugly thing. But his claws are gone when he’s done and his eyes go back to their natural color mix, the red bleeding out. He lets go of Stiles’ wrist slowly, as if unsure of his movements any more, now that he told all this, now that the alcohol is out of his system.

He gets up and Stiles stumbles after him, legs still wobbly, although his mind is definitely clear. In a stupor, unable to process what Derek just said and everything it means, but clear. Kind of empty, actually.

“I need you to let me out,” Derek grinds out.

“No, no. Dude, I can’t. The alphas are out and-”

“Let me out, Stiles.” And this isn’t a command. It’s lifeless and defeated and dead. It makes Stiles’ eyes prickle for some reason, and it’s stupid, so stupid. Stiles presses his lips into a thin line and silently shuffles to the closest sealed entrance, the window in the living room in this case, and swipes his finger over the sill, wiping off the mountain ash line, the first floor all lined up with ash, as opposed to the branches on the second. He doesn’t have to turn back to hear Derek slamming the front door shut as he leaves.

On autopilot stiles calls Scott. He was definitely asleep, but listens intently to what Stiles says, feeling numb, telling him to follow Derek at a distance and see how he’s doing. See to it that he’s safe. When Scott asks him if he’s fine, he says yes, not knowing himself if he’s telling the truth.

Stiles seals back the mountain ash line, cleans up downstairs, hides the bottle of Jack back and takes the empty beer bottles up to his room to dispose of them later, so his father wouldn’t find them in the trash. He takes a shower and brushes his teeth and pointedly doesn’t think about anything. His phone blinks at him with three new messages from Scott and he skims through them, getting the general thought out of them, that everyone’s fine for now, and ignores everything else, where Scott talks about Derek’s hurt scent, or how he feels his pain like it’s a living thing. He ignores the text asking what’s going on and switches off the phone. He turns it back on minutes later, just in case, but leaves it on his table, so that he doesn’t do anything stupid.

He lies in his bed and wills himself to sleep until his head hurts and he bites his lips when he feels like he’s about to cry, because he’s not going to.

He stares into the ceiling and it’s blurry and his face is wet and hot. He _doesn’t_ cry.

_He doesn’t cry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The full moon they have in this chapter is the end of July so that the full moon the alphas let Derek get Boyd and Cora on the show can be after Heather’s birthday that I made to be the 29th of August because I don’t think we have an official date.
> 
> also, this is now definitely not canon compliant in any of the realities, because I'm done with the shitty directions the show is taking.


End file.
